STARS Reanimated
by Reiji Neko Mitsukai
Summary: In which the fallen rise once again. Rated T for pottymouths and a naked Brad.
1. Arisen

Disclaimer: If you know 'em, I don't own 'em.

Author's note: A brainsquee that I figured I'd try out. Now I know that even with the plot alone there's going to be heaps of plot holes and such- especially considering there was no time to gather the bodies of the fallen S.T.A.R.S. before the detonation of the mansion (or the bomb hit Raccoon, in Brad's case)- so I won't need any help figuring those out, unless you feel you MUST toss in your own two cents. I'll just add them to the list.

Back to the point… This was primarily written for my own entertainment. Being a S.T.A.R.S. fan, I couldn't help but to play around with the idea of the S.T.A.R.S. coming back. I can only hope you guys like it. Let me know what you think.

Also threw in my OC Jean for fun. No whining. If you don't like OCs, then don't read it.

_Chapter 1: Arisen_

_Thu-thum._

_Thu-thum. _

A glisten of consciousness. He didn't remember passing out.

_Thu-thum. Thu-thum. Thu-thum._

As a matter of fact, he didn't remember anything.

_Where..._

Warmth was all around him- smothering and comforting all at once, alarming and yet so soothing at the same time.

_Who..._

The darkness was inviting; there was calm and peace and quiet there. Nothing would disturb him there. He could just sleep and sleep and sleep until he simply ceased to exist.

_... Exist? Live?..._

Live. Such a strange word. What did it mean?

_Live,_ came a response from deep in his mind. _Exist. Be._

_Breathe. _

_Breathe...?_

He tried it. It was surprisingly easy; air came in, air came out. Awareness came closer. With the awareness, however, came something else he hadn't been familiar with in years.

Memory.

"_J-Jill!"_

"_Brad!"_

_Jill? Brad? What are they?..._

"_N-no-!" _

"_BRAD!"_

"_JILL- HELP!"_

"_STARS..."_

Something sharp suddenly bit into his chest, making all his muscles lock and taking away his ability to breathe.

_PANIC TERROR FEAR RUN ESCAPE_

Brown eyes suddenly opened wide as images assaulted his mind. Bubbles floated up not even an inch away as a sound escaped him, muffled by something over his face. Words rushed his brain in an overwhelming wave, only making the fear coursing through his veins worse. So much he didn't understand...

_RUN DANGER ESCAPE RUN_

However, his awkward struggling didn't help him escape. He could see an open room in front of him, and he couldn't get there. There was no other choice.

_NO RUN NO ESCAPE FIGHT_

An arm suddenly stretched out, the hand closed in a fist. It hit something solid, and lines appeared in his vision. Another strike, and the lines exploded. The warmth pulled on him a little bit and began to go away, starting at the top of his head and lowering. It was cold that took its place and made him gasp and brought back his breath. He instinctively followed the warmth; something caught on his legs and made him fall, landing on more cold. Tiny teeth bit into his hands and knees, and although it hurt he paid it hardly any mind- with the thing on his face, breathing was getting harder. A hand quickly rose and ripped the thing away as he continued to breathe deeply. His eyes closed in relief as the fear and panic went away.

_Air... breathe... live..._

_... Alive..._

_... I am alive..._

_... I..._

The calming breaths suddenly paused as his eyes snapped open.

_Brad. Brad Vickers. I am Brad Vickers. Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team's pilot and resident computer tech. _

Full sense of self struck him then. He found himself staring at a gray floor- although slowly clearing, his vision was fuzzy, neither did he care to try to figure out what kind of floor it was- and on his hands and knees. Streaks of pink flowed past him in a quickly dying current; concerning, considering the pink seemed to grow as the water ran past his hands.

Alarmed, he brought his right hand up, only to blink in surprise at the sight of the small shards of glass embedded in his palm. The fragments were scattered on the floor below him, making him quickly climb to his feet while carefully stepping out of the range of the mess. His gaze- now wide and disbelieving- traveled back and up, following the trail of destruction to the machine. He was unfamiliar with it; it appeared to be mostly a giant test tube, wires and hoses snaking from the base and several ports in the back. There seemed to be an oxygen mask laying on the ground in front of it that had come from inside- what he had taken off of his face. A large red light was blinking near a monitor to the right of the tube- a warning indicator, perhaps? Most likely because he had broken out. The monitor itself showed a flat green line with the number zero in the upper corner. The water was coming from the tube (whether or not he was right to call it water, he didn't want to think about) and had mostly drained.

As his eyes drifted down, he caught a glance of his reflection in a small pool. He hardly looked presentable- pale, his eyes wide, and his hair a mess. He rose a hand to run it through his brown strands and push them back out of his eyes, but it was then he realized something much more important.

He was completely and utterly naked.

A blush was quick to rise to his face, and he instinctively covered himself. He never was one to openly show himself off, and he wasn't about to start; especially not here... wherever he was. There _had _to be something he could use- even a sheet would be useful at this point. Coverings, a tweezers to pull the glass form his knees and hands, bandages- these had to be around here somewhere...

His eyes rose to check the rest of the room, and he suddenly stopped.

The walls and ceiling were a sterile white, blinding with the bright lights overhead. Stainless steel equipment- lab table, sitting stools, multiple machines he wasn't sure of- were gathered on the far side of the room, nearest to the only observable exit. A tall white cabinet was located near the door, most likely containing the supplies he needed. However, it held his attention for merely a few moments, as what was on his side of the room quickly halted any effort to move across the room.

The machines looked just like the one he had broken out of- right down to the number of buttons near the monitor. There was ten altogether; five along both of the two adjacent walls, while the third held some kind of workspace. The monitors of nine of them were active, jumping green lines and numbers similar to a heart monitor on eight of them, while his remained a flat zero. The final one was apparently off. The machine he had been resting in (although it felt more like being entombed, now that he was out) was in the corner of the wall opposite of the door, towards the middle of the gathering. Condensation had gathered on the glass of the other running machines, making the figures inside hazy and indistinct.

It was morbid curiosity that drew him to the machine to the left of his. It felt like some horror movie; he was defenseless and naked, and yet all he could do was step closer as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He didn't know what to expect as his hand rose to touch the glass- maybe the tube suddenly exploding as something like that Tyrant thing burst out to run him through like it had Wesker. His heart was already pounding in his chest, but he tried his best to keep his breathing in check. The whole situation was a bit much to handle, everything happening so fast without explanations.

The glass was warm to the touch, the water inside no doubt being the same as in his. His palm flat against it, he swiped some of the tiny beads of water away to reveal the creature within. It was a familiar face his eyes met.

The bite returned to his chest, keeping him from even stepping back in shock. A strangled sound escaped him, but nothing coherent as he stared.

Forest. Forest Speyer.

_But you... Jill and Barry said they found... Then Chris... And then you... and he..._

But this was a very much living Forest within- the monitor line continued to jump, and his chest rose and fell with each breath. There were no signs of trauma on his face. He looked as though the mansion incident had never happened.

The sense of horror got a little stronger as Brad's eyes suddenly moved to the next machine over. Approaching it, he hesitantly raised a hand and wiped away the condensation.

Captain Enrico Marini. Who, according to Jill, had been shot and killed by an unknown assailant, although they assumed it had been the traitorous Wesker.

Another dead man brought back to life.

His mind and body now seemingly disconnected, he moved from machine to machine, unveiling the faces within as he mentally reeled at the shock of each one. Edward Dewey. Joseph Frost. Jean Rubenson. Kevin Pooley. Richard Aiken. Kenneth Sullivan. All dead members of S.T.A.R.S., all somehow back among the living.

Brad stood in the middle of the eerie collection, overwhelmed and numb. A part of him was ecstatic to have the team back and alive and well; things hadn't been the same since that July night, the survivors of the team resigning and the squad being disbanded altogether before the city had gone to hell. In the same breath, however, the only dead people he had seen come back had been the ones trying to eat him alive. The thought of them all breaking through the glass and pursuing him for their next meal chilled him to the bone. If he could find a weapon, he'd find it difficult to kill them to save himself; then again, he probably wouldn't get out alive at all if his friends were all zombies. No weapons, no help- hell, no _clothes..._

The thought of the cabinet returned to him, and his attention diverted. _Get a grip, Vickers, _he thought to himself._ Set priorities. Do what has to be done. _

_Priority one: stop being naked._

Glancing around the room again to make sure there was nothing out to devour him, he hurried to the cabinet, feeling very awkward- he wasn't used to his manhood hanging completely free like it was now. Quickly pulling open one of the doors, his hopes rose a little upon seeing a stack of folded white on the eye-level shelf. A quick count revealed ten of them and he pulled the topmost off, unfolding it. It was a long white sheet, apparently made out of some kind of vinyl. Certainly not see-through, which was his top concern. Folding it in half a few times- the thing was big enough to cover a person- he then wrapped it around his waist, tucking one end in to hold it in place, like he would with a towel after a shower.

A slight sting as he secured the sheet reminded him of the glass embedded in his hands and knees. Bringing his palms up, he carefully observed the wounds. There was no longer blood dripping from the shards, and it seemed that the amount that had already escaped was beginning to dry. Well, that'd make pulling them out easier... Moving on to his second priority, he looked through the cabinet again, this time seeking tweezers and bandages. The search came empty until he discovered a red tin box with a white cross on it- a first aid kit. Another glance at his- sleeping?- comrades assured him they hadn't moved before he took the box. A quick peek inside told him what he needed was inside, and another glance at the room around him determined he'd use the table near the machines for the job. Scurrying across the room (still feeling awkward, but not as much) he stood at the workspace and pulled the shards out of his hands first. Each quick tug stung a little bit, but not as bad as he had thought they would. Perhaps the shock and touch of adrenaline in his system was nulling the pain? Possible, although he wasn't a medical expert by any means.

Most of the shards seemed to have fallen out on their own, and so the process hadn't taken long- five minutes or so. He was reaching for the bandages when he noticed something very strange. Pausing, he lifted both palms to look closely, wanting to be sure. His brow furrowed as his heart began to pound a little bit again.

_... The hell?!_

All the punctures, scratches, and scrapes- right down to the deepest one- was gone. Vanished. Not even a scar marred the skin. He gently touched where the shards had been. No pain what so ever. Startled, he looked down to his knees, only to find the skin knitting back together so fast it looked like someone had recorded the process and played it back in fast forward. It was both fascinating and a little horrifying for the man to watch- fascinating because it was useful, and horrifying because it was happening to _him_.

His knees had healed in no time at all, and Brad could only stand there, unable to move.

_What... what's happening to me?..._

There was no explanation for this sudden development in his mind. It just didn't happen. And yet, there he was- bloody glass shards on the table, and no wounds to show for it. Was it because he was killed by that thing in Raccoon City? It hadn't been like the other zombies; it was too intelligent, too steady. Maybe... Maybe he had been infected with a different kind of virus? Maybe whatever had made that thing? But if that was the case, why wasn't he turning into it? The others had only come into contact with the regular virus, and they didn't seem to be turning into zombies.

But according to Chris and Rebecca, three of them _had_- Forest had chased Chris around in the mansion, while the young medic had confronted both Edward and Jean after they had died. But all three looked fine now.

None of this was making sense. It was frustrating, and at the same time made him want to panic. He had no clue as to where he was, how he had gotten there, why he was even alive… He didn't know what that creature in Raccoon City had done to him; all he remembered was the massive hand reaching for his face before everything went black. Whatever it had done, he was sure it was deserved, considering how he had abandoned the team in the forest after watching Joseph get mauled by those undead dogs…

He turned towards the machine that held the man in question. Like all the others, the blonde looked for all the world like he was taking a nap; his face was calm and serene, and there were no wounds, as far as he could tell. He still felt guilty about the whole thing- leaving everyone on their own like that. Maybe if he hadn't left they could've found a way to save most of the Bravo team... But no, he was the one up and about, walking around while everyone else was trapped in giant test tubes.

_Then enough with the pity party and __**get them out.**_

The self chastisement spurred him to action. His first thought was to return to the cabinet, taking the rest of the sheets before remembering one of the machines wasn't in use and putting one back. He brought them back to the workspace, setting all but one on the nearby stool and returning to his fallen teammates. Quickly deciding Enrico would be the one to try to wake up first- he was more comfortable taking orders from someone else, and the older man would always be Captain in his book- he approached his machine. Being the team computer guy, surely the basics of it wouldn't be too hard to figure out...

After studying the control panel for a little bit, he brought a menu up on the screen, noticing the number for his heart rate remained in the upper right corner. After browsing through a few submenus, he found the command to drain the fluid. A prompt appeared on the screen.

DRAIN?

YES NO

He pressed the button underneath the "yes" option, and smiled in victory as the machine's humming grew a little louder and the fluid level inside began to lower. He began to unfold the sheet to prepare for when the other man would come out, but another prompt caught his attention.

OPEN WHEN DRAINED?

YES NO

He again pressed the button associated with "yes" and watched as the word "DRAINING" blinked on the screen. The water was quickly dwindling, and he finished unfolding the sheet until it was the same size as his when he had put on his. Just in time too, as a beep- it seemed so loud in the quiet of the room- signaled that the water was gone. With a mechanical whir, the front half of the test tube moved forward just a little before moving along the bottom track, spinning to the back of the tube and leaving a wide enough opening for the unconscious Enrico Marini to fall forward through.

Fortunately, Brad had reacted in time and managed to catch him, although the additional weight sent him to his knees. He had been holding a corner of the sheet in either hand, and had thus wrapped it around him as he had fallen into him. Quickly recovering from the impact, he set his captain down on his knees, taking the oxygen mask off his face before putting his hands on his shoulders holding him up as he gave him a gentle shake.

He was cold.

That was the first thing Enrico's barely conscious mind registered.

"_Enrico?" _

Cold and tired, although his fatigue seemed to be lifting fairly quickly. Which left him with the cold.

"_Hey... Enrico..."_

The voice was vaguely familiar, but no name or face was connecting with it yet. His mind wasn't working...

"_Captain?"_

_Captain... _

_That word..._

He was beginning to feel the rest of his body- he was sitting on his legs, a pair of hands on his shoulders shaking him a little bit. It was a little annoying, but he was too distracted to react to it.

_My... team..._

Numerous faces flashed in his memory, none of them associated with a name.

_They..._

"_Come on, Captain... wake up..."_

_... They need me..._

It seemed to take too much effort to open his eyes, and when he did the bright white of the world around him made him quickly shut them again with a slight groan.

"Enrico!"

The relief in the voice spurred him to try again, this time the movement becoming a little easier. His vision was blurry and he had to blink a few times before things began to focus. Brown eyes met his dark ones as he looked up. Pieces began to come together.

"... Vickers?"

"Thank God... Are you alright? Do you feel okay? What do you remember?" came the questions as he let go of his shoulders.

He had to focus his thoughts for a few seconds before anything would come- slowly, his mind was beginning to catch up. "I remember..."

"_... Enrico?!"_

"_Jill... there's a traitor... in S.T.A.R.S..."_

"_What?!" _

"_AAAGH!"_

"_ENRICO!" _

"_Um-brel-la..."_

He brought a hand to his chest, over where the bullet had hit him. He had been shot. Shot and killed, no doubt by the traitor. He hadn't figured out who it was, although he was pretty sure it wasn't Jill. The reports he had found specified they were male.

"So you remember dying too?" came the soft response as Brad recalled his own death. At least his had been instantaneous; Enrico had been forced to suffer for a few seconds longer.

That almost made the older man start. "Too?" he asked, almost looking disbelieving.

"Yeah. But that's not important right now- we need to wake up the others."

Enrico didn't like how that sentence had ended, but it made him look around. They seemed to be in a lab- like the ones under the mansion... That alone would have set him on the edge, but it was then he noticed the giant test tubes, although not able to see the people in them.

"Where... are we?..."

"Not sure. I woke up on my own and managed to break out; it doesn't look like we can expect the same of everyone else."

More talk of other people... This was becoming more and more ominous. "Everyone else?"

Brad visibly hesitated, not sure how to explain that the other deceased members of S.T.A.R.S. were alive and floating in giant test tubes like exotic fish on display. "You have to see for yourself." He briefly lowered his eyes, quickly averting them a moment later. "Erm... after you cover up, that is."

One look down at himself, and Enrico understood what he meant. He pulled the sheet around himself and tucked the one end in, Brad standing and turning towards the other machines to give him some semblance of privacy. "Now," began the captain as he prepared to stand up, the pilot turning and offering a hand. The older man took it and together they managed to get him to his feet- his muscles were still a little weak from a long period of disuse.

_He feels so light... Did he loose weight in that machine?_

Enrico looked the same; his arms were just as muscled, and he certainly didn't look starved. Yet it took hardly any effort on Brad's behalf to get him up. Perhaps he hadn't needed help getting up at all...

"My _God_..." came the breathed reaction to the sight of the familiar faces within the tubes. His team- all but one, the rookie Rebecca Chambers- stood submerged, unresponsive. Like some kind of science experiment. "Who _did_ this?..."

"Don't know," came the response, Brad finally getting the time to push his hair back and out of his face. "But considering what got us all killed, I don't think we can trust their intentions." Not after his super-fast healing; whoever they were, they had obviously tampered with him. Of course, he wasn't about to mention that now- to stir up doubt now wouldn't help their situation at all. "That's why I started waking everyone up. Thought I should start with you, Captain."

Enrico patted his shoulder. "I trust your judgment, Brad. Let's get everyone out of these things."

Armed with a sheet each, Brad drained Forest's tube (Enrico watching so he could show Forest when he woke up) and left his captain to catch him while he moved on to Joseph. He knew that the vehicle specialist called him "Chickenheart" behind his back, but now wasn't the time to let hard feelings get in the way- they were all in this together, whether they liked it or not.

Frost felt like he weighed maybe twenty pounds when he fell from the tube, Brad effortlessly catching him and managing to get the sheet around his waist before pulling off the oxygen mask and lowering him to his knees. He started gently shaking his shoulders to get him to wake up. "Joseph; hey Joseph, wake up..."

A slight sound and the downward movement of his brow were the first indication of consciousness, followed by a quiet groan. The voice was familiar, but the hazy mind couldn't place it. All he could register was cold and someone was holding him sitting up by his shoulders. He had liked where he had been- dark, quiet, unfeeling- but the persistent voice pulled him from the rest, making him crack his eyes open and cringe a little at the bright light.

"_Come on Joseph… I need you to wake up Jean…"_

_Jean…?_

The name was familiar, but no face came to mind; instead, what came was a scene- long, waist-high grasses, darkness of night, trees spotting the landscape, the flashlight on his gun shaking ever so slightly with his aim while he focused on nothing; nothing there nothing a growl behind him _OH GOD-_

A sudden gasp escaped him as his eyes shot open, and in the next instant a hand came over his mouth to muffle any other sound that tried to come.

"It was scary, I know, but we don't have time to panic right now."

Amber eyes blinked several times before they focused on the brown ones nearby, an almost confused look flashing over his gaze as he tried to place the face. Slowly- to make sure he wouldn't scream- the hand over his mouth pulled away. A few more moments passed.

"B-Brad?"

A slight smile. His memory was coming back. "It's good to see you too. Let's get you up- but... ah... _might_ want to take care of the sheet first."

A downward gesture from the pilot made the blonde man look down. A few seconds of quiet passed.

"... Why am I naked?"

"We all are," came the answer as he rose to his feet, turning away to check on Enrico and Forest, the latter struggling a little to get to his feet while his captain helped him up.

"And where the hell are we?"

"Don't know. I was the first one to wake up, and I woke up Enrico. Now he's helping Forest and I need you to wake up Jean." A glance told him the man was covered, and he turned back to him and offered a hand.

"Jean?" came the question, sounding moderately alarmed. "She's _here_? Where is she?" A momentary pause as he took the offered hand. "And why do you need me to wake her up?"

"You're her best friend," he reasoned, followed by a brief pause and a slight blush. "And... well... she's naked."

Joseph stumbled as he sputtered. "What?! Just because I'm going to be the one waking her up doesn't mean she's going to take it any better! When a woman unexpectedly wakes up naked, seeing _any _guy is going to set her off- I've seen enough rape cases to know that!"

"Except we don't have time to argue about it," came his snapped- although hushed- response, taking hold of his shoulders and looking him dead in the eyes. "We don't know where we are, how we got here, or how we're even alive. I _watched_ you _die_, Joseph- I was still in the chopper when those dogs started tearing your throat out. I know for a _fact_ that nobody here but me survived those two nights in July. _Everyone here died_," he stressed, giving his shoulders a slight shake with each word. "I don't know who did _this_," he released one shoulder to gesture at the room around them, "but with how everyone died, I strongly doubt we can trust them." The hand returned to his shoulder. "And Jean is going to need you, because she trusts _you_ the most and she's going to be uncomfortable as hell because she's the _only_ woman out of the nine of us. Are you willing to be there for the team- for _her_?"

Joseph could only stare for several seconds. Brad suddenly becoming gutsy enough to confront him like that was unheard of back in S.T.A.R.S.; something must've happened to make him brave. The surprise receding, he sighed and turned his eyes towards Enrico and Forest, who where now moving towards other machines. He wondered who all was here- Brad had said there was nine of them altogether- but then figured he would learn sooner or later. "You're right," he quietly acquiesced. "Guess I just got freaked out by the whole thing..." His gaze returned to him. "But when did you turn into a motivational speaker?"

A shrug as he released the vehicle specialist. "Situation called for it, I guess." He nodded towards the other machines. "Jean's this way."

The sight of their teammates encapsulated in tubes was still unnerving; Forest and Enrico were opening the machines holding Edward and Richard respectively, leaving Kevin and Kenneth to be awakened by whoever got there first. After a quick detour to get another set of sheets, they stopped in front of the machine holding the one female in the room. Brad quickly went about draining the tank.

"Be sure to cover her up as soon as you can; she'll be disoriented and won't be able to remember much at first."

"Like me?"

"Yeah. Like you."

"Got it."

He unfolded the sheet as Brad walked away, heading for another machine. The fluid level continued to quickly lower, and he- nervously?- swiped a stubborn and wet lock of hair out of his eyes. He had always kept it tamed, or at least hidden, with his bandanna back in S.T.A.R.S.; he didn't have that option now, and so he'd have to just deal with it. He just hoped Jean would still recognize him…

The front half of the test tube slid to one side, and he tried his best to keep his eyes up. However, he couldn't help but to notice that a lot of her hair had fallen over her shoulders, and being the length it was- nearly down to the small of her back- it was fortunately covering a good amount of her chest. Well, it was one less thing for him to worry about…

And then she fell forward, him quickly reaching out to catch her, his arms coming around her to wrap her in the sheet and managing to not catch her arms in it as he did. There was no effort on her part to keep herself from hitting the floor, and although she weighed considerably less than him the impact was still enough to knock him off balance and to his knees.

"Whoa, hey-" he said softly, narrowly avoiding a mouthful of hair. "Easy, Jean- I've got you covered… Erm… Literally."

A quiet sound escaped her, although she didn't move quite yet. That left him with a dilemma: continue to hold her and keep the sheet around her, or sit her up so she wouldn't jump to the wrong conclusions when she came to? As much as he wanted to keep the embrace- Brad had said everyone there had died, meaning Alpha team had probably been too late and she had died a terrible, lonely death- he knew he'd have to move eventually. Maybe if he just adjusted his hold on the sheet...

Carefully, making sure her covering didn't slip, he put one hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her up. Her hair was firmly stuck to where it was- fortunately- so nothing of her upper body had been displayed during her fall. She was completely covered now; or at least he assumed so- he couldn't see her back. He had never seen her with her hair down- none of them had, really- and he wondered what her hair would look like when it dried.

"Hey, Jean..." He gently gave her shoulder a shake. "Time to wake up..."

Her brow furrowed ever so slightly with another small sound, although her head didn't lift from her chin resting on her chest. He took the slight movement as a good sign, and persisted.

"Jean?"

A slight groan this time, and her eyes cracked open.

"Come on, Jean; it's me, Joseph."

"Jo-seph?..." Her voice was quiet, but it accompanied her eyes opening just a little bit more.

He couldn't help but to smile a bit. "Yeah, it's me."

A few moments passed, her eyes distant. Then she gasped slightly and her right hand quickly came to the left side of her waist. The first thing he had remembered when he woke up was how he had died- her reaction didn't bode well at all.

"It's okay," he reassured her gently. "You're fine- everyone here is."

She blinked a few times before lifting her head, seeming to study him as she tried to identify the name with his face. It was several seconds before she spoke.

"Where... are we?"

"Not sure," he answered. "Brad woke me up. Whatever's going on, it's not sitting well with the team."

Feeling cold, Jean rubbed her arms, which led her to realize that she wasn't wearing a shirt. A quick glance down led to a double take. "Um... Joseph? Why am I wearing a sheet?"

He felt a slight heat creep up into his face. "About that... You see, none of us were wearing anything when we woke up, so..."

Quickly, a hand came to her chest to hold the sheet on.

Releasing her shoulder, he raised the one hand in defense. "I covered you up the moment you came out, and I swear to God I didn't look- honest." Although he couldn't help but to notice the two rather big scars on her chest, rough-edged, almost star-shaped, and about four inches apart. The hand keeping the sheet on was covering most of them at the moment, but they still looked like they had done a lot of damage and had required extensive surgery. Whatever had caused it must've been serious.

Her other hand sought out the edges to reassure herself she was covered. Her hand found his, and he released the sheet once he was sure she had it. "Let's get you up; we should report to Enrico."

Her eyes lit up at the name of her captain. "Enrico? He's here?"

He nodded. "Most of Bravo team is, I think-" Not so much a good thing, since that meant they had died, but he didn't tell her that yet- "But there's only two of us from Alpha team as far as I know." He rose to his feet- much easier this time than it had been the first time- and he offered her his hand to help her up.

She tried to get up on her own first- _Chicago girls,_ he thought amusedly- and he slipped an arm around her as she stumbled. Once they had her on her feet, she adjusted the sheet, wrapping it around herself and tucking one end in so she wouldn't have to hold on to it. He averted his eyes as she did, glancing to see Richard and Edward standing together and looking confused, Brad catching Kevin as he fell from the machine, Enrico heading for Kenneth's and Forest approaching the two looking lost. He performed a quick headcount- Kenneth would be the last one.

Once everyone was awake, they all met in the center of the room. The hushed conversations between those present stopped when Enrico cleared his throat. He was the only authoritative figure in the group- it was up to him to lead them.

"Alright everyone, we don't know how much time we have, so let's make this quick. We don't know what day it is, where we are, or how we got here. We have reason to doubt the intentions of whoever is responsible for this. The only thing we are absolutely sure of is that all of us here- in either the incident in the Arklay Mountains or something related- _all_ of us died."

A hushed "My God..." from Kenneth, and several checked themselves for a pulse. Joseph briefly rubbed his neck.

"Brad is the only source of information we have regarding these incidents at this point. We'll get a brief overview from him." A nod towards the brown-eyed pilot, indicating the floor was his. "Brad."

He stepped forward. "As you all know, Bravo team was sent into the forest on the Arklay Mountains on July 23. After no contact for almost twenty four hours, Alpha team went in for a search and rescue mission. Of the entire S.T.A.R.S. unit, the only survivors were Chris Redfield, Barry Burton, Jill Valentine, and myself of Alpha team, and Rebecca Chambers of Bravo team."

A quiet sigh of relief from Jean; Rebecca had survived.

"According to the files retrieved by Chris and the others, the pharmaceutical company Umbrella had been performing experiments on an artificially made virus in aims of creating a biological weapon. An outbreak in the underground facilities within the forest reduced all the staff to mindless carriers. After massive casualties, the remainder of S.T.A.R.S. armed the facility self-destruct system and escaped before detonation."

He paused, giving the team time to absorb this. Joseph raised his hand.

"Joseph?"

"If just the four from Alpha team survived, where's Wesker? Judging by the pattern, shouldn't he be with us?" A few nods from the others in agreement- they would feel a lot better if he was around.

"If we're lucky, he's rotting in Hell," came his answer, venom touching his tone. The surprise in their eyes spurred him on. "He was working for Umbrella from day one; it was his goal to lead us to that damn place the whole time. He had Umbrella agents keep Barry's family threatened with death so he would have no choice but to help him. We were supposed to test the mutations the virus caused to see how good they were in combat; we weren't supposed to survive. We were his little piggies- that's what he told Chris before one of the mutations killed him." His gaze turned towards Enrico. "We're pretty sure he's the one that shot and killed you, Captain."

A smolder of fire in the dark eyes- he should have known...

He waited for the others' murmurs to hush before he continued. "A little over two months later- sometime late-September- the virus somehow spread to Raccoon City. Within a few days, the entire population was turned into the carriers faced in the mountains. Chris, Barry, and Rebecca had left town before then; Jill and I were the only S.T.A.R.S. left. Last I remember, Jill was okay; she was with me when I died in front of the station. The next thing I remember is waking up here." He stepped back to where he had been, trying to shake off the memory of the grating call of "STARS..." that had come from the monster that had killed him.

A length of quiet followed as those present processed the information. The S.T.A.R.S. commander was a traitor; they had all died; Raccoon City was overrun by the virus that killed them… Everything they had fought for was gone.

Now what?

"Thank you, Brad." Enrico paused for a breath as he prepared to speak again. It wouldn't be easy keeping everyone motivated; in this kind of situation it would be easier to surrender to their captors. "Things look grim, people- we have no weapons, gear, provisions, and we're quite possibly in the belly of enemy territory. But we've been in tight spots before; with discipline and teamwork, we'll make it out again. Chris, Jill, Barry, and Rebecca are out there somewhere- quite possibly fighting Umbrella on their own. It's up to us to get out and find them. I don't know how long it's been, but I'm itching for some action and I'm not about to let _them_ have all the fun. I say it's time we give Umbrella a little payback. Who's with me?"

A few heartbeats of silence as the speech sank in. Then Forest stepped forward.

"I'm with you."

Richard followed. "I'm with you, Enrico."

One by one, the collection of people came together to reform their team. Lack of supplies be damned, they weren't about to allow Umbrella to get away with it.

Joseph saluted sharply. "Sir- Joseph Frost, reporting for duty."

Their captain couldn't help but to grin a bit as they gathered around him. This was the team he knew...

"Thank you, everyone. I can already tell this is gonna be one hell of a comeback." Now, down to business... "First things first- we need to scavenge what we can. Information, tools, supplies- anything that will be useful. Until we know more about who brought us back, we're better off not drawing attention to ourselves."

"Erm- Enrico?"

The captain's attention turned to Brad. "Yes?"

A pause as the pilot thought on how to say what he had in mind. "The Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. was completely disbanded a month after the incident- if we're going to be a team again, we're going to need a new name."

That's right- S.T.A.R.S. had been mere puppets in Wesker's hands until that night. They would need something new; something separate from his influence. Dark eyes traveled over the group of individuals listening attentively.

"Any suggestions?"

_To be continued…_

Author's note: That's it for this chapter. Let me know what you think.


	2. Three Days Later

Disclaimer: If you know 'em, I don't own 'em.

Author's note: A bit of a time jump in this chapter, but don't worry- we'll go back and pick up the stuff we missed in flashbacks. Tons of stuff in here, so sit down to read it if you've got a few hours to kill.

Also: I said I knew there was tons of plotholes. I didn't say anything about _fixing_ them.

_Chapter 2: Three days later..._

Jill Valentine didn't often get many days off. Which was okay- she didn't know what to do with herself when these occurred, and often found herself in either one of two situations: bored out of her skull, or with Chris Redfield.

It was on these rare breaks the pair liked to go out and get a feel for the general condition of the public, often sitting in a popular location and just listening. It wasn't hard to tell what was on the people's minds when they chatted around you, oblivious to the crowds around them.

Today, they decided it would be a coffee shop, and so they sat with their drinks- Chris a straight coffee, while Jill tried a latte- and idly chatted as they surveyed the people surrounding them. At one point, the man excused himself (his partner noticing he was headed for the men's room) and she merely smiled a little to herself before sipping her drink. She and Chris had been on so many missions together, the trust they had between them was almost instinctive; which had saved their lives many a time.

Granted, the years after the Mansion Incident back in Raccoon City had taken their toll on him- he had lost a lot of the almost boyish qualities he had had in S.T.A.R.S., caused by the death of so many of their friends. He looked older now, more worn and with an intense edge. And yet, he was still Chris- the guy who was scolded by both captains for his temper; the guy who couldn't get a decent hand at poker to save his life.

There had been some pokings and proddings as to the relationship between the two, even back in Raccoon. They were partners and friends- nothing more. Oh, she had considered the possibility, but in the end she concluded it would only complicate their lives. That wasn't something they needed.

Another glance towards the men's room- _Jesus, Chris; you didn't drink __**that**__ much coffee,_ came the thought- brought her attention to the staff member watching her as he approached. She raised her head towards him as he neared.

"Ma'am? Are you..." He paused, looking at a small sheet of paper in his hands. "... Jill Valentine?"

She briefly wondered how he knew her name- she and Chris weren't _that _well-known in the town, and they had paid with cash. "Yes."

He gestured back towards the counter. "There's a phone call for you."

A phone call? Here? It was their day off- they didn't exactly tell any of their coworkers where they were going. Even then, they would have just called them on their own phones. Hers had been quiet for most of the day. "Did they ask for me by name?"

"Well..." A slight shift- impatience? Unease? "They specified a woman matching your description answering to the name Jill Valentine would be sitting in this seat. He's very insistent that he speaks to you; says it's very important."

Which meant they were being watched, and they had waited until Chris was gone before calling. _Where the hell are you, Redfield... _"Alright. I'll take it." So much for their day off...

Leaving her drink at the table, she rose from her chair and followed him. Weaving through the crowd- it was a popular coffee spot, after all- she let him go behind the counter while she waited on the other side. He picked the phone up from the cradle, and the "on hold" light came off. She accepted the receiver and nodded her thanks before putting it to her ear, noticing the employee had left to let her talk in relative privacy.

"Hello?"

"_Jill? Jill Valentine?" _

Her brow furrowed just a little bit. That voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't recall where. "Yes. Who is this?"

She could have sworn she had heard a grin in the next words. The voice was male, perhaps early twenties in age and without any noticeable quirks like an accent or a lisp. Just your basic, all-American male voice. _"It's been a long time; I'm not surprised you don't remember me. I don't have long, so I need you to listen very carefully. Unless you think you'll need to write this down,"_ came the seeming afterthought.

"I'm pretty sure I'll be able to manage," she answered calmly. For being suspicious in nature, the voice didn't seem ominous at all. He wasn't trying to scare her.

"_2865 Prospector Avenue. The password is 'Daybreak'. Got that?" _

2865 Prospector Avenue, daybreak. "Yeah. Got it."

"_Good. Come tonight, if you can." _

"Should I be armed?" she asked quietly. A pointless question- she was planning on coming with multiple guns regardless of what he said- the only purpose of which was to give her more time to identify the voice. It sounded so damn familiar...

"_I'd say no, but I know you will be anyway."_ A pause, and the voice came back hurried. _"Gotta go. Don't forget- 2865 Prospector. We'll be waiting."_

There was a click, and the line went dead.

Feeling a little frustrated, she reached over the counter and put the phone back. Whoever they were, they knew her well enough not to underestimate her. And he had said "_we'll _be waiting"- there was a group of them. But what were their intentions?

These were the questions that ran through her mind as she went back to her table. Blue eyes watched her from the recently abandoned seat- Chris had returned, sipping his coffee as she sat in the chair across from his. He said nothing as she picked up her cup, keeping her expression neutral.

"Chris?"

He swallowed the mouthful of hot liquid. "Yeah Jill?"

She brought her cup to her mouth.

"We're being watched."

_That night..._

2865 Prospector Avenue. She was sure of it. One of the nails holding the 2 on had rusted through, leaving it hanging at an angle; the paint on the outside walls was mostly gone, and a lot of the wood around the door and sparse windows had rotted due to exposure- the warehouse-like building had long been abandoned. Just like the part of town Prospector Avenue was in.

Underneath her jacket, gear was strapped to her belt- a flashlight, a pouch containing multiple rounds, two handguns, another pouch containing her lock picks, and a tazer. She would've preferred more firepower- like a shotgun- but she figured this would be enough for now. The voice over the phone hadn't been menacing, and said she wouldn't need guns; not that she trusted them, hence why she was loaded. She still couldn't recall why the voice had sounded so familiar, and it was irritating- she should know the man the voice belonged to, but she couldn't bring it to mind. At least she'd learn their identity soon...

Drawing in a breath- the air was somewhat damp and cool, hence her jacket- she stepped up to the metal door and carefully turned the handle. No resistance- it was unlocked. The hinges creaked as the door opened- her cringing a little at the sound- and dim light flooded the darkness beyond.

The interior was just as dilapidated as the outside. Ancient sheetrock had crumbled in some spots, leaving the studs in the walls visible. The ruins had been left to sit where they fell. A good quarter of an inch of dirt and dust had collected on the floor- there were several pairs of footprints left behind, both entering and exiting. These led to a closed door on the opposite wall. No light came from the crack underneath. Hesitantly, she took in a breath of the musty air. They were expecting her, so she doubted announcing her presence would do much harm.

"Hello?"

A few seconds later, there was the audible shift of something- someone?- behind the closed door. But no response to her call. Perhaps now was the time she was supposed to use the password.

"Daybreak."

The door across the room suddenly opened a crack. "I was wondering when you were going to show up," came the familiar voice. "Come on in- we won't hurt you."

_Right. Like I'm about to believe that... _

Carefully- listening for any sounds indicating an ambush- she stepped closer. Nothing had jumped out at her when she reached the door, and so she slowly opened it, relaxing a little when this one didn't squeal as much as the other had. She had had enough creaky doors with the Mansion Incident- she didn't need anymore haunted houses.

The room beyond was dark- some of the light that floated in from outside managed to reach this far, but only enough for her to see the outline of a person once her eyes had adjusted. Furthermore, she was standing in the doorway, blocking a good deal of that light- she wasn't stupid enough to walk right on into a dark room.

"Who are you?" It was more of a demand than a question; Jill didn't like to play games in these kinds of situations.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." The voice had quieted a little and was almost mournful, rather than mocking or teasing. She again felt the spike of irritation that she couldn't identify it.

"Then I guess I'll just have to see for myself." Her right hand reached down for the flashlight. No word of dissent from the man- he wanted to be identified, it seemed. She pointed the small object at the floor and turned it on.

The feet appeared to be clad in old gray sneakers, the sides blown out from years of use. The blue jeans weren't much better- the color was almost completely worn from them, holes tattered the knees, and it appeared as though they had been previously worn by someone who had preferred to walk the extra two inches from the bottom of the pant sleeves rather than hem them. The shirt had once been a nice, white button-down dress shirt, but now had tears along the tattered sleeves and the bottom hem was seedy. Old stains of various origins spattered the whole outfit- overall, it looked as though the clothes had been pulled from a dumpster. But she didn't really react until the light rose and she saw the familiar face, eyes covered by an old and cracked pair of sunglasses and- most mind-numbing- a red cloth tied around his head like a bandanna.

Jill gasped and visibly jumped, her flashlight falling from her suddenly nerveless hand as her mind froze and her heart suddenly hammered in her chest. She had seen the face many times in her nightmares, and many times while she was awake; her imagination had often put his undead corpse in an empty hallway at night or behind her in the mirror. She could still recall his death pretty clearly- his screams and cries choking and fading as the numerous teeth tore into him, blood spraying on the ground around him as his struggling weakened until he collapsed completely, the gaping hole in his neck no longer sputtering small air bubbles in the blood that pooled out.

For one horrible moment, she was reliving her nightmares, her eyes wide and her lungs breathless as she could only stare. It wasn't until he stepped closer did she react- with speed honed by years of experience, she had her gun aimed in the dead center of his chest. Fortunately, the flashlight remained in one piece when it had landed.

"Don't come any closer!" she tried to order, but the shock in her system made it sound shaky and weak.

He stopped his advance and raised both hands in the air, showing he was unarmed and had no intention of hurting her. "I know this is hard to swallow, and I can't explain it myself, but you've _got _to believe me, Jill- it's me!"

"Shut _up_!" she snapped, her voice shaking. "I _watched _Joseph Frost _die _seven years ago, so stop giving me this bullshit and tell me who you are!"

"Jill, look at me," he insisted, keeping his hands up. "Think back to Raccoon City- in the S.T.A.R.S. office. Remember? Who was it that stole all your tampons and hid them in everyone else's desks?"

She paused, breathing heavily to catch her breath as she recalled the incident. Of all the stunts pulled, that one pissed her off the most. "Joseph."

A nod. "And whose ass did you kick down in the gym the next morning?"

Another breath, her aim beginning to shake with her hands. "Joseph's."

"And who learned not to mess with you every second week of the month?"

Her nose wrinkled momentarily. "Everybody."

A pause. "Okay, fair enough..." He visibly tried to think. "Ah-ha! _But_-" His left hand rose to one finger. "- _who _was the one to put marshmallow Peeps all over Brad's desk?"

She blinked. She had forgotten about that one. It actually had been rather funny, considering a sign with the words "is hangin' with his peeps" was taped to the edge of his desk right under the pilot's name plaque. "Joseph."

"And whose desk did he put them in after running them in the microwave? Which, by the way," he added, "was a pain in the ass to get out of the drawers."

Her heart began to pound even more as his point was being proven more and more. "J-Joseph," she admitted weakly before her aim lowered. "Oh God... This..." She shook her head. "This is impossible..." _Wake up, Jill- this isn't funny anymore! Wake up!_

His hands began to lower, sensing he had convinced her. Before he could say anything, however, a sudden movement and sound from behind the woman startled both of them. Before she could react a hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back through the doorway, broad shoulders obscuring her view in the next second.

"Don't move!" came the barked order from a male voice directly in front of her, this one slightly deeper than the one she previously had been talking to.

"Chris!" Rather than sounding alarmed at having yet another gun aimed at him, Joseph actually sounded relieved.

Blue eyes were intense as they stared at the person who appeared to be his long-deceased teammate. The physical resemblance to Joseph Frost was dead-on; there was even the faint, thin scar just above his left eyebrow he claimed had been from his days as a Navy S.E.A.L. But it just couldn't be him; so much time had passed- although he didn't look to be any older than 25, the age he had been when he died.

"You've got ten seconds to explain who the hell you are and what you're up to."

His hands were back up in the air. "I know it's been a long time and this doesn't make a lot of sense, but you've _got_ to believe me." He was trying to keep his voice even, wanting to diffuse the situation before bullets flew. "Just hear me out, and you can judge then. Please?"

Chris deliberated on what to do. He couldn't blame Jill for getting freaked out- she had actually watched Joseph get mauled by the undead hounds, and he knew it still haunted her. No doubt the sight of him now- looking just as he had before that fateful assignment- was a shock. Chris himself wasn't sure what to think; as much as he wanted to believe that this man really _was_ Joseph Frost somehow back among the living, the impossibility of such a thing happening constantly beat against his sense of reality.

Then again, after what had happened since 1998, reality and impossibility had both become relative.

A slight huff. "Alright. Start talking. But don't move."

A slight smile, painfully familiar. He then paused for a moment, seemingly to organize his thoughts.

"The last thing I remember about 1998 is being in the forest in the Arklay Mountains; we were looking for any sign of Bravo team after we found the helicopter and Kevin." A pause to swallow- Chris remembered Joseph had very nearly lost everything in his stomach upon finding the mutilated pilot. "I heard a rustle in the grass, but there was nothing when I looked. Then a growl behind me, and when I turned..." A vague gesture of finality. "That was it. It happened so fast, all I remember is growling and that it hurt like hell. Next thing I knew, Brad was waking me up in some lab three days ago."

A smaller form nudged Chris aside- Jill had recovered from her shock. "Brad?" she asked, still edgy. The Alpha team pilot had been another friend she had watched die, this one at the hand of Nemesis- still a horrible death, but at least his had been quick. She picked up the flashlight, aiming it at his midsection so they could see his face without blinding him.

A nod. "He's here- two rooms away, actually. Everyone is."

A thick silence hung in the air. Chris and Jill both felt a twist in their gut with his last sentence. Surely he couldn't mean...

"... Everyone?"

"_Everyone_. Me and Brad, Bravo team- we all woke up in that lab. We came together to make a new team- Daybreak. Kevin came up with the name."

The twist suddenly grew worse. To have all their friends that died at the hands of Umbrella to suddenly show up alive and well... it was like a dream they didn't want to wake up from. But the musty air was too strong for this to be the case- usually Chris Redfield's dreams were vague and hard to remember. This night- for all it's improbability- was very much real.

"What do you think?" came Jill's voice quietly from his right. She would trust his instincts.

Chris fought an internal battle. One part of him- the majority- wanted to run up and bear hug the man in front of them. The other- his more cautious side- wasn't entirely convinced he was being sincere. Perhaps one more test was in order.

"One more question," he told Joseph, lowering the gun ever so slightly and fixing his gaze steadily on the eyes he couldn't see. "A month before that night in the Arklay Mountains, you came to me for advice. What did I tell you?" This particular exchange had occurred at his apartment in Raccoon City- he had been surprised to find the vehicle specialist at his door on a Saturday- and the two had been the only ones there; only the true Joseph would know what passed between them.

A brief moment of quiet before his voice came soft. "You told me we were a team; and that as a team, we make sacrifices for the good of the whole. They're not always going to be fair- or noticed by anyone else- but they'll be necessary. The team comes before the individual."

Chris let these words soak in and process before reacting. He holstered his gun. For the first time that night, a smile came to his face. "Damn it's good to see you again, Joseph."

A relieved smile was returned. "You two sure know how to make a guy sweat. For a minute there I thought I'd have a few new holes to breathe from."

The two B.S.A.A. agents came closer. The two males took hands and shook before the previously-deceased shook hands with the woman. "I see Jill's still a knockout- as always."

She stifled her grin at the familiar teasing tone and lightly punched his shoulder. Things going back to as they had been before the incident in the Arklay Mountains was making this already strange night even weirder.

Chris's left hand came to Joseph's shoulder. "Show us where everyone else is and tell us everything. The director's gonna have kittens when he learns about this."

Joseph's smile suddenly faded. "There's something you should know..."

Alarm was quick to settle in. Judging by his tone, it was serious. "Is everyone okay? Is someone hurt?" asked Jill, feeling dread build up in her stomach. He had said they had woken up three days ago; anything could have happened between then. Had she and Chris come too late to save a friend?

The younger man was hesitant to continue. "Not too long after we all woke up, we started to change. Not like fangs-and-tentacles change; we still look like us. But the people that brought us back- they messed with us. We..." A frustrated sigh when no sufficient description came to mind. "Oh _Hell_-" He suddenly reached up and tore off the sunglasses.

A short gasp accompanied Chris's hand suddenly withdrawing from his shoulder. It wasn't the familiar amber eyes that met Chris and Jill's in the indirect light of the flashlight- rather, these were still familiar, but horribly so: feral slits, the irises surrounding them shifting from yellow to red the further away they got from the pupils.

Just like Wesker.

For a moment, Chris couldn't breathe. He had been so shocked and focused on the fact that it was Joseph standing in the room; he hadn't even bothered to question why he was wearing shades in such a dark place. It was obvious now- it was the only practical way to hide his eyes.

Joseph seemed almost startled when Chris suddenly had both of his shoulders, his gaze not flinching when he met the inhuman ones with a stare. "It was Wesker, wasn't it?" he hissed.

A blink, followed by a hard swallow. Then a wordless nod.

"Son of a bitch!" the gunman spat after releasing him and turning away, fury practically radiating off of him. "Bastard just can't leave you guys alone!"

"The B.S.A.A. has top medical facilities; there's gotto be _something_ we can do," Jill reasoned. Chris had a temper- a Redfield trait, according to him and his sister- and knew she had to calm him down.

"That's great and all, but we've got more important things to worry about right now," interrupted Joseph, catching both of the agents' attention again. He looked from one to the other. "He's looking for us; he's had a handful of lackeys out there combing the streets for any sign of us out there. We'd be able to take them, but whatever they did to us- it sped up our metabolism. We've been starving for three days- Brad's going to collapse if this keeps up much longer. We can't go out in the day looking like this, and nighttime is when Wesker's goons are out." His voice betrayed just how desperate their situation was. They needed help.

Chris took in a calming breath. Joseph was right- they had to act. Now. He returned his attention to the blonde. "Take us to them. We'll check them out and call for help."

With a nod, he gestured for them to follow and he turned, opening a door behind him. The two agents followed, Jill keeping their path lighted to avoid debris that littered the way- a broken two-by-four here, a large chunk of sheetrock there, as well as a smattering of what appeared to be twisted sheets of tin. The next room was dark, but light was coming from the crack under the door, almost silhouetting Joseph's form. With another squeak, the door was opened, the light coming from the opening blinding in the darkness of the room. Jill and Chris had to blink a few times before their eyes would adjust.

The first thing they noticed was that the room had been- to some extent- cleaned up; debris had been moved to the edges of the room, and crates had been positioned against walls to act as furniture. A lone light bulb hung from the ceiling with only a chain to act as a switch. It was the only source of light, as there was no window- they must have been towards the center of the building. Joseph continued to walk further into the room, while the other two stood to more carefully observe the scene.

The people scattered about the room were unmistakably the once-dead members of S.T.A.R.S. Forest and Enrico were both on their feet- the former dressed in what appeared to be a tattered pair of oversized blue jeans that covered his feet with a scuffed old leather belt keeping them on and a stained white wife beater, while the latter wore what appeared to have once been a nice pair of black slacks accompanied by an old gray T-shirt and dark blue sneakers that looked a bit shredded. They looked as though they had been sitting- Forest perhaps leaning against the wall- and had gotten up in reaction to the door opening. It was noticeable relief on their faces when they recognized the pair that entered. Forest was the first to approach them.

"Chris."

A nod. "Forest."

The two men shook hands, then pulled close and patted each other's backs in a man-hug.

"God, it's good to see you guys again," admitted the B.S.A.A. agent when they pulled apart.

"I imagine I look better than when you last saw me."

Which was true, although not by much- they all looked too thin, and the familiar hues of blues and greens and ambers and browns of their eyes were all replaced with feral yellows and oranges and reds. Forest's own green ones now had more orange than red or yellow, the pupils only partially dilated to widened slits.

"I'd take you guys like this over dead any day."

More of the deceased Bravo team began to approach, eager to be reunited with their old teammates that had survived. Chris and Jill couldn't help but to touch each one of them. They looked different, but they were otherwise the same- it was the same smiles they could recall from years ago, the same laughs as they briefly shared old jokes that reminded them of how things used to be. It was only their eyes and their too-thin forms that reminded them of the present.

"Jill!"

The woman only found herself able to stare at the familiar face that approached her. Jean was dressed in- of all things- a faded blue dress that reached just above her knees, her hair left loose- something that was unheard of back in S.T.A.R.S. Her eyes- once blue-green- were now mostly orange. Jill returned the embrace of the now-younger woman; being the only two women in S.T.A.R.S. before Rebecca had come, they had learned to rely on each other and had become good friends.

"Jean?" Pushing her away, she held her out at arm's length. The dress seemed to be all she was wearing- she had no shoes. She looked very feminine. "This is an interesting new look for you."

An ill-humored huff. "All that's missing is the kitchen and me being pregnant," she deadpanned, although her smile persevered.

"Are you okay?" came the question as she looked the female vehicle specialist over. She was unhealthily thin, but no worse for wear, considering what they must have gone though.

A nod. "Looking forward to some decent clothes, but otherwise I'm fine." Not the first time Jill had heard that infamous f-word from the woman... The smile faded. "Brad's the one we're all worried about."

Remembering the pilot, Jill quickly looked around. It didn't take her long to find the man in question- he was in the corner of the room, sitting up on a crate and leaning against the walls. His eyes seemed to be closed, and that brought a pang of dread to her chest as she abruptly left the group, quickly moving towards the still form.

It was a light blue button-up shirt with bleach stains he wore, accompanied by a pair of tattered khaki pants and scuffed and worn dress shoes. He was terribly thin; although still fairly well muscled- he wasn't a body builder, by any means- his cheeks were sunken and he looked deathly gaunt. His head lifted, and it was then she noticed his eyes were just barely open; she saw the mostly red and orange irises as he opened them a little further when he recognized her.

"Jill?"

She carefully sat beside him- not sure of the weight limit on the crates- and gently put an arm around his shoulders. "Hey," she greeted. "Never thought I'd see you again."

A slight smile. "You have no idea how glad I am that you got out of Raccoon..."

"Teamed up with a survivor and Barry hauled our asses out of there. I'll tell you the story sometime. How you feeling?"

"Tired," was his simple response.

Chris had begun watching this exchange with noticeable concern when Enrico approached him. His eyes had taken a mostly red color, but his smile- although small- was genuine. "Chris. Good to see you made it out of that hellhole alive."

The pair shook hands. "Enrico- it's just plain good to see you." They released. "How is everyone?"

A slight sigh. "Not good. We haven't felt hungry since about noon yesterday. We haven't been sleeping much, and it feels like we're getting weaker by the hour. I don't think we'll last another week."

Chris knew that the loss of appetite in this situation was a sign of starvation; he knew this after his adventure in the Antarctic, when the shock of finding Wesker alive had disturbed him so much he was too worked up to eat. After a few days, he simply didn't feel hungry anymore. It wasn't until he had passed out in front of Barry was the problem addressed. His blue eyes returned to the pilot in the corner. "And Brad?"

"A few days, at most. We're not sure why, but he's different than the rest of us- he was the first one to change, and he's in the worst condition out of all of us. We've been having him rest as much as possible to conserve energy. If you two hadn't come..." His words faded, indicating the gravity of Brad's condition.

A pause as the marksman thought. The irony of the situation would be terrible if they couldn't get the pilot help in time; him dying from something as simple as lack of food while the rest of his team lived, as opposed to back in the Arklay Mountains, where he had lived and everyone else had died simply because he took off in the helicopter. Why was he so different? Perhaps something in his genetics? Or maybe something had happened to him back in Raccoon? Now that he thought about it, Jill never did explain how Brad had died; she had simply said he was killed and he assumed it was too painful for her to talk about. Once he was recovered, he would ask him what he remembered. But he wouldn't get that chance if he didn't get them help.

His gaze returned to the former Bravo captain. "Enrico, have everyone gather whatever supplies you have; I'll call in for transport to get everyone to HQ." He reached for his radio as he spoke.

The older man opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it and instead turned towards the group. "Alright Daybreak- let's pack up the sheets; we're getting the hell out of here!"

Jill looked around as the crates were upturned and what appeared to be folded white sheets were pulled from the emptiness inside. "Sheets?" she asked Brad.

He chuckled a bit. "We'll tell you later." With that he pushed himself up to his feet, the woman with him putting an arm around him to hold him up when he wobbled.

She carefully leaned him against the wall. "I'll get it- you just take it easy."

"This is Agent Redfield to HQ; HQ, do you copy? Over."

A few seconds later, the radio burst to life. _"Agent Redfield; this is HQ. What the hell? I thought it was your day off! Over."_

A slight snort. "No rest for the weary- you know that. Besides, something came up that couldn't wait. I need a med evac for nine at 2865 Prospector Avenue. Starvation, probable dehydration, and one's damn near the end of his line. Be as discreet as possible. Over."

A pause. _"Nine? That'll be two trucks, Chris. Are you sure you don't want us to just call the hospital? Over."_

"Negative on the hospital- you'll see when we get them there. And make sure Chambers isn't the one to treat them; she could potentially become emotional. Over."

Another pause, this one longer than the last. _"I see. I'll send the transport. Need any backup? Over."_

Would they? He and Jill were two of the B.S.A.A.'s best; there was little they couldn't handle. But they said Wesker was looking for them- could they really defend all nine of them on their own if a confrontation erupted? On the other hand, backup wouldn't be very discreet.

"Negative. Arm the trucks, though. Just in case. Over."

"_Rodger that. And I just got word Dr. Chambers is gone for the night; you'll be fine 'til morning. Over."_

"Over and out." He tucked the radio back into its pocket.

Forest approached him after apparently talking to Enrico. "Hey, Chris?"

His attention quickly diverted. "Yeah Forest?"

"Got a knife?"

Chris was confused, but nodded. "Yeah. Always do. Why?"

"Mind if I borrow it for a minute? Need to cut some leg off these pants." He gestured down to his pant sleeves, which were still like tents over his feet. "They've been buggin' me ever since I put them on."

Overall a strange request, but what else could he expect, with how the night was turning out... He slid it from its sheath and carefully handed it to him.

Nodding his thanks, the other gunman kneeled on the floor and cut away at just above ankle length, revealing the worn, brown leather boots with the sides that were peeling away. Although not very straight cuts, the sharp blade did the job and within a few minutes he was back on his feet, tossing the two strips of denim to the side and retuning the blade. "Thanks. I would've chewed the damn things if I didn't get my hands on a knife."

Amused, Chris smiled as he replaced the knife. "You know, the oversized pants is the popular look these days."

Forest patted his shoulder. "Then thank God I was a child of the seventies."

The sudden sound of a nearby window shattering startled them all, those more familiar with the layout of the building quickly turning towards the wall to the left of the door Chris and Jill had come in from, knowing that the sound came from the room just beyond it. For several moments afterwards, silence reigned- the good mood destroyed by the interruption, everyone merely looked and waited, alarm clearly etched on their faces. It wasn't until a smoke began to drift in through the door was there a reaction.

"Retreat," came Enrico's voice, soft although loud enough to be heard in the quiet. The recognizable tone told everyone that the one word had been an order.

Jill suddenly found Brad's hand at her wrist, pulling her to the other side of the room. A glance revealed the familiar fear in the unfamiliar eyes.

"This way," he urged quietly. "They found us."

The group gathered towards one spot on the opposite wall from where the sound had come. At first, Chris wondered just what they were doing- it was a regular wall, unfinished without wallpaper or paint. It wasn't even mudded- just sheetrock that stretched from floor to ceiling, screwed to the studs behind them. A dead end wasn't going to help them any.

Kenneth was the first to reach the wall, and he unfolded the white cloth in his hands once before resting it over his shoulder. He put his palms flat up against a slab of sheetrock and began to carefully push up. The now-older gunman was about to ask what he was doing when the slab began to lift from where it sat.

The bottom edge of the sheetrock appeared up over the floor, and the closest person- Jean- kneeled down and slipped her smaller fingers in the gap, pulling the bottom away from the wall. Once it was an adequate distance away, the man was able to pull it away completely, setting it up on the other slabs of sheetrock. It was then Chris saw what had made the feat possible- whoever had put the screws in had used the wrong size, the tips just poking out; there were scratches along the wood studs where they had been moved before.

The obstruction removed, those gathered began to squeeze through the wooden beams, crossing into the darkness beyond. The studs were spaced apart enough so that there was room for even the largest of them to pass through. Enrico stood nearby, counting the heads as they passed. Forest grabbed the B.S.A.A. agent's arm and pulled him towards the new exit. The smoke continued to come in- teargas? Perhaps, but he didn't want to find out. They didn't have masks. He reached for something on his belt.

"Hey- Forest?"

"Yeah Chris?"

He offered the item in question. "Remember how to use one of these?"

The once dead man actually stopped upon seeing the pistol, gazing upon it with what appeared to be wonderment. It had been a long time since he had held a gun, and he took a few moments to admire the piece before taking it. Chris was almost expecting him to cradle it like an infant; he was handling it with the utmost care, gently holding it by the grip and testing its weight in his hand. It had been a long time.

"It's my spare. Just in case," he added before patting the other marksman's shoulder.

Jill had a similar idea in mind when she and Brad passed Enrico. Pulling her secondary gun from her hip, she handed it to the captain without a word. Although a little surprised by its sudden appearance, he merely nodded his thanks and took it.

Once everyone was inside the darkened room, the team captain entered himself. He was the one to slip the sheetrock back in place, turning the room mostly pitch black. A very faint light was coming from _somewhere_- Chris couldn't exactly see to figure out- but it wasn't enough to help him. Forest was still holding on to his arm, the only way he could tell there were other people in the room.

"I can't see a damn thing," he murmured quietly.

"We can," came the whispered response. "Just stay with me; I'll guide you."

Of course- their eyes weren't just for decoration. That also explained how Wesker could see in the darkness of Antarctica without removing his sunglasses. He wanted to thank him, but decided that disrupting the dead silence that had settled over the group wasn't a good idea. Especially when he heard the clunking of boots from the other side of the sheetrock.

The steps were slow and cautious. First one pair, followed by another, then another- a grand total of five sets, if he estimated right. Five against eleven- the odds were in their favor, especially considering that Daybreak most likely had Wesker's enhanced speed and strength as well. But they were all in rough shape- weak, starving, and for the most part unarmed- and Brad probably wasn't going to last much longer. They probably wouldn't be able to use their abilities as it was.

Voices faintly drifted in after almost a whole minute of silence.

"_This is Gamma leader- we have no sighting of the targets. We've found evidence that they've been here, though."_

Any response was too faint for him to hear.

"_Rodger that."_

Another voice, this one sounding younger and closer.

"_He's so full of it... They'd be halfway across the city by now."_ Their 'door' suddenly shifted, and Chris thought he heard what sounded like dust falling to the floor._ "If they don't wanna be found, they won't be found- that's it."_

"_You'll shut your trap if you know what's good for you," _growled a third voice, deeper than the first. _"I've heard stories about that guy... Anyone that crosses him is never heard from again. Not somebody you wanna piss off." _

A scoff. _"Oh please... he doesn't sound so tough..."_

And in that brief moment of silence, someone sneezed. On _their _side of the sheetrock.

Chris's mouth suddenly became very dry.

"_The hell?!"_

"_They're here!"_ came the third voice.

"_Behind that wall- kick it down!"_ ordered the first voice.

Two seconds later, a boot heel came through the sheetrock, the light that burst through suddenly blinding in the black of their surroundings.

"_There they are! Go go go!"_

With a sudden yank on his arm, Chris was up and running, the darkness swallowing him again. A brief burst of automatic gunfire behind him drowned out any other noise for a few seconds, and he was suddenly pulled around a right corner. There was light in the distance- a window at the end of what appeared to be a hallway, the pale moonlight illuminating about five feet of the area around it. As far as he could tell, Enrico, Joseph, Kenneth, and who appeared to be either Brad or Edward with the familiar form of Jill were in front of him, having to identify them by their silhouettes alone. Now that he could more-or-less see where he was going, he put on a little more speed to keep up with Forest. Running footsteps surrounded him. His heart pounded in his chest.

He couldn't help but to imagine he was back with S.T.A.R.S., on some dangerous assignment back in Raccoon City. The memories threatened to take over his thought processes, but he pushed them away. There would be time for that later.

Enrico turned right at the window, and he realized it was a flight of stairs in the dull light as he followed, seeing it was Brad that was running with Jill. There was another window up on top, he noticed as he began to ascend, hearing the many pairs of feet around him as the group moved. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty steps later, the group turned right again, heading down another hall that lead to darkness. No sight or sound of the armed foes they had left behind- no doubt they had taken the time to break through the sheetrock in pursuit.

They had passed about five doors before Enrico suddenly stopped, pointing towards a door on their left, the rest of the group slowing to run in. Chris saw the multiple bouncing lights in the darkness up ahead- a group with flashlights running down the adjacent hall.

"_Shit_!" he heard Forest hiss, and he couldn't blame him- he was thinking the same thing, considering a second group of opponents wasn't very helpful.

The room inside was darker than the night outside. Chris and Forest leaned against the wall near the door, hearing the rest of the team hurry in. The B.S.A.A. agent felt for his radio before finding it and pulling it free from his belt. In the hallway, Enrico opened fire, presumably to provide cover for those not in the room yet.

"This is Agent Redfield- where the hell is the evac?!"

"_I'll patch you through,"_ came the voice from last time. _"Just sit tight." _

About ten seconds later, another voice came through, this one female. _"Chris? You alright? Over." _

"What's your ETA? Over."

"_At our current speed, five minutes. Over." _

"Then to hell with discretion- we need you _now_! Over."

"_Give us a minute and a half. Over." _

"Over and out." Replacing the radio, he paused to take in a calming breath. Ninety seconds- surely they could get out of this mess by then.

"Everyone alright?" came Jill's voice from somewhere to his right. Her call received a general sound of agreement from those around her. When he heard it again, her words were quieter. "And you, Brad?"

"I'll be okay," came his response, sounding a little too soft to be believed. They had to get him out of here; all the running was only draining him faster.

It was then he noticed something odd. He could hear Enrico shooting, but he heard nothing coming from Wesker's men. Why weren't they returning fire?...

The gunshots stopped, and he heard someone lean against the wall nearby. Enrico's voice came fast and hushed.

"There's a hallway ten meters to the right up ahead; I need someone to help hold them off. Jill, do you have another clip?"

Chris quickly dug into his side pouch. "Here." Not being able to see the man, he merely held it up and felt someone take it. "I've got three more."

"I've got five," came Jill's response.

He heard Forest get up. "I'll help provide cover, but somebody's gotta take Chris- it's too dark."

"I'll get him," came Jean's voice from somewhere across the room, and a few seconds later he felt a smaller shoulder brush his.

"Our ride should be here in a minute; they'll radio when they arrive."

"We'll try to find a way out, then. Ready Forest?"

"As I'll ever be."

Three seconds later, more gunshots. Jean grabbed his wrist, tugging him away from the wall. "Now!"

And they were running once again, Chris nearly blind and surrounded by the sound of running feet and gunshots. He and Jean turned right as the sound of the fire came near, and they then began to fade. They had run nearly ten steps (and considering the length of his stride, that was actually pretty far for a hallway) before he heard an alarmed "Brad!" come from Jill behind him. In front of him, he heard someone- Richard?- call "This way!" and he was again guided into a right turn. Their pace halted and he was leaned up against another wall as he heard the others run in. He could tell which one was the weary pilot due to the irregular steps.

"Brad, over here," he said, and he heard the paced breathing when he felt someone lean against him slightly.

Jill's flashlight came on, although kept at the wall so it didn't cast too much light other than what they needed to see. Brad looked exhausted and was trembling quite a bit. The shadows that fell over his face made him look older than his mere thirty five years of age (up to his death, that is) and gave him an eerie look- like a worn version of the Phantom of the Opera. Chris turned towards him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Just hold on a little longer, okay? We'll be getting out of here soon."

A slight smile was the response, hardly convincing. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice soft.

He resisted an eye roll. "I know the people on this team; they use the word 'fine' when they feel like they're dying or about to pass out."

A weak chuckle. "Good to know some things never change..."

He was about to speak again when his radio crackled to life.

"_Agent Redfield- are you there? Over." _

"Speaking of getting out of here..." He unclipped the device from his belt. "This is Agent Redfield- we're all still kicking. Over."

"_Where are you? We're both sitting out in front of 2865 Prospector Avenue. We can hear the gunshots. Over."_

Already? Jesus, that was fast... "You're here already? How fast did you go? Over."

"_Hey- you said book, so we booked. Now where are you? Over."_

"Up in the second level." He would've given more information, but the whole night had been crazy- and all the running in pitch-black hallways had given the experience a dream-like quality that left him disoriented and unsure of which part of the building they were in. "We'll find a way down. Have the doors open so we can jump in and haul ass, alright? Over."

"_Rodger that. Over."_

"Over and out." He replaced the radio. "Our ride's waiting; we just gotta get down there," he called to the others, hoping Enrico and Forest were close enough to hear.

No sooner had he closed his mouth than Forest appeared in the doorway, just barely identifiable in the dim light. Oddly enough, he was facing the opposite way of the team of Wesker's men down the hall.

"Got bad news, boys and girls," he called over the sound of Enrico's gunfire, pausing to quickly take a few more shots. "The first team caught up with us- we're surrounded!"

"Shit..." the male B.S.A.A. agent hissed. There was no other obvious exit in this room, and the hallways were blocked off, leaving them with no means of getting downstairs. This didn't look good... He berated himself for not bringing a few flash bombs. One good toss and they would've had ten precious seconds to get out of the corner they were backed into.

"Chris!"

He identified the voice as Kevin's, and when he turned the man was pointing at something straight out the doorway. Whatever it was, he couldn't see it from where he was standing. Leaving the wall, he moved to stand beside the pilot, trying to match his gaze.

There was a doorway directly across the hall from the room they were in, this one looking just as bare. However, this one was illuminated by a moderately sized window; judging by it's appearance, one where either half could be opened by sliding it over the other. And on the other side of the glass- sitting inconspicuously in the light of both the moon and the flickering streetlight- was the fire escape of the building next door.

"We'll make it- most of us still have the strength, and we can catch the others!"

The idea played out in Chris's head. The window was probably just big enough for one person to fit through- they'd have to squat a bit, but they'd make it. With some running momentum, they could launch themselves from the window and make it. They'd need to keep up the cover fire; the last two would essentially be on their own. Eight clips left- ten if they counted the ones in Chris and Jill's guns that hadn't been fired yet. If they moved fast enough, between the time the last person runs for the window and they all get in the trucks, there will be very little time for Wesker's men to get any potshots in. If all went well.

"I need somebody to take Enrico's place while I fill him in."

"I'll go," volunteered Jill, who gave Jean her flashlight and promptly began walking for the doorway.

He caught her arm. "Someone who can _see_," he added, meaning that she probably couldn't see any better than he could.

"I'll aim for the lights," came her response in reassurance she'd be fine.

She could take care of herself- he knew that, but he still didn't like sending her out into the line of fire when they were so disadvantaged. She had been his partner ever since S.T.A.R.S.; he didn't know what he'd do if something happened to her.

Reluctantly, he let her go. About five seconds later Enrico appeared next to him, loading another clip- Jill must have given him one. The rest of the team gathered as he detailed the plan; Kevin volunteered to open the window and be the first to dash across the hall. Edward offered to relieve Forest of providing cover- he was one of the few of them that had the strength left to actually catch the ones that may miss the fire escape. Enrico would continue to keep the enemy at bay until everyone else was clear, then he and Edward would run for the window.

It had started smoothly enough- Kevin bolted across the hall and opened the window, making sure there was no one waiting for them. Receiving the signal for the all-clear, Forest shot across the hall, through the room, and launched himself from the window.

It was a familiar feeling- he had done similar stunts before, but those hadn't required him to land on or at least catch a rusted old fire escape lest he splatter himself on the ground or knock himself out getting clotheslined by the old iron. He reached out as he neared, his hands catching the railing near the ladder. The sudden stop made the breath leave his lungs in a rush, but he managed to hang on- he had done it. Taking in another breath (partially to ease the jittery feeling in his gut he always got when putting his own life in danger) he lifted a booted foot to the grated walkway to heft himself up, ducking under the railing to a more secure footing. He checked the area again- noticing the rear bumper and open back doors of a large vehicle out on the street to his left- he waved for Kevin to follow.

Unlike the sniper, the pilot wasn't used to these kind of aerial stunts without being strapped to a seat equipped with a parachute and an eject button. He had never been part of S.T.A.R.S.; he was merely their designated backup pilot. A flyer first, law enforcer second. There was a lot the Special Tactics and Rescue Service squad had done that he hadn't- being two stories up in the air with nothing above or below you but the clothes on your body was one of them.

A small, frightened sound escaped him as he leaped from the window, but quickly choked it down as the wind rushed over him. The fire escape quickly approached, Forest sitting and watching him, one hand up over his head and hanging onto the thick support bar, leaning forward slightly in preparation to move and give him a helping hand should his jump prove too short. His arms outstretched, Kevin reached as far as his body would allow, the knot in his gut tightening to small tight mass. Had he had the time, he would've questioned why he thought this was a good idea in the first place.

Surprisingly, it was a relief when his midsection came in contact with the railing, the breath he didn't know he was holding escaping him in a rough groan. It didn't hurt as much as he would've thought as he leaned over the metal bar, strong arms coming around him to help pull him over.

"Fun, eh?" came Forest's voice.

"If I ever get another idea again," came his response as he caught his breath, "tell me to shut up."

Upon the team's insistence, Chris went next- he would need to get the evac drivers up to date on the situation and make sure everything was ready. No doubt the team's appearance would be a bit of a shock, and the two drivers should be prepared.

Chris was a strong man- years of physical training for his career had toned and strengthened his body, and he was one of the stronger of the B.S.A.A. members. However, even as he launched himself from the window after getting a running start from the room across the hall, he knew he wasn't going to make it. It felt like almost slow-motion; the ground was rushing up to meet him, and he strongly suspected he would be the one to need the medic when he hit in a full belly flop.

Then a hand suddenly gripped his wrist, halting his decent with an almost whiplash-inducing suddenness and his lower body swinging in response. His arm would hurt in the morning, but right now he was too thankful he wasn't kissing the pavement. His head craned back to look up and found Forest leaning over the guardrail, left hand tightly around his wrist and the other over his head, holding onto the support rod. Kevin stood nearby, a hand on his left shoulder in preparation to help.

"Jesus, Chris- gain some weight since I've been gone?"

A slight chuckle. "It's all muscle- I swear."

"Yeah, and I've been on vacation for the last seven years..." With a grunt of effort, he began to pull the agent back up onto the fire escape. Kevin took his other hand, and they hauled him over the railing.

"Thanks for the save," said Chris as he caught his breath. "I gotta get to the trucks; we need to be ready to go the moment the last of us climbs in."

The other gunman nodded towards the nearby ladder that was up against the fire escape- it had never been used, and so it had rusted where it sat. Walking over to it, Chris gave it a few solid kicks before the metal screeched and the ladder slid down until the bottom was three feet from the ground. He didn't bother climbing down, opting instead to merely let his boots keep him on track as he slid. As soon as his feet hit the pavement he was jogging towards the trucks, going around the back end of the closest one to put the vehicle between him and the building. He didn't stop until he was at the driver's window of the first one, and- upon seeing the driver distracted- gave the glass a knock.

With a swish of shoulder-length dark hair, the dark eyes- startled- came to settle on his face. The small Italian-American woman visibly calmed as she rolled down the window. "Jesus Christ, Redfield- don't _do that _to me!"

He ignored the comment. "Is everything all set up in the back?"

A nod. "I've got an IV ready for the guy you said was bad, and brought a few more along just in case anymore take a turn for the worst. We've got bottled water to stave off dehydration and some nutrient bars for the rest of them. It'll help their recovery, at least. It's all we can do for the ride back to HQ."

"It'll help. You sure we'll be able to fit everyone in there?"

"So long as you all don't start dancing the Can-Can, I think we'll be fine. Now what the hell is going on?"

"I'll explain later," he returned as he looked through the passenger window to see what was going on. The building hadn't blown up yet- so far so good. "There's something you should know…"

Kenneth was the next to fly out the window, not daring to look down as his legs heaved against the windowsill. He had always had a slight fear of heights, and he tried to not let it show. He was a chemist- a man of science- and science dictated that he probably shouldn't make it, considering his size, weight, and the added exhaustion to his body considering he'd been starving for a good three days…

However, it was easy to underestimate the power of the virus Wesker had infected them with- for all the lack of sleep they've been getting, he didn't really feel tired in that sense; almost as though he simply didn't need it. Who knew what they'd be able to do in ideal health; the empty space between the window and the fire escape wouldn't be a problem at all. Fortunately, it still _was_ manageable, the darker skinned man catching the guardrail just to Forest and Kevin's right and almost effortlessly hauled himself up before they could reach for him. Forest gave him a pat on the shoulder before he headed towards the ladder. He waited at the bottom, not knowing if the trucks were ready or if he should stick around in case Forest couldn't reach someone that missed.

Joseph was climbing onto the walkway from underneath the guardrail when Chris appeared again, coming out from behind the ambulance-like truck and waving him over. With a nod he jogged over and the gunman put a hand on his back as he neared. He pointed towards the open doors of the nearest truck.

"They're waiting for you; there should be food and water for the trip back. Just take it easy and save your strength- I'll make sure everyone else makes it out." Giving his back a pat, he then walked away.

Kenneth studied the interior of the truck as he neared. It looked a lot similar to an ambulance- a row of sealed compartments, no doubt meant to keep supplies and tools from flying around while en route, lined the top, just overhead from the benches that ran around the two longer sides. There were two people- a man and a woman- in EMT-looking uniforms, standing in the empty middle, apparently waiting for them. He couldn't help but to wonder what was on their minds as he walked to the open doors; no doubt he was quite a sight, dressed in a tattered green shirt that apparently had previously belonged to a 300 pound man and what had once been someone's pajama pants- dark blue with a white stripe down the sides- and brown tennis shoes with several eyeholes for the shoelaces torn out. His once brown eyes were now a frightening reddish-orange- almost the color of rust. Couple his appearance with the rapidly flickering streetlight nearby, he probably looked like he belonged in some horror movie.

The two EMTs stepped forward once he was at the entrance, the man offering a hand to help him up, which he took with a sheepish although grateful smile to make him look less threatening. Once he was up they both helped him to a seat- the assistance wasn't needed, but he took it anyway. If his appearance scared them, they weren't showing it- they were pros. Once seated, he carefully leaned back to rest against the wall.

The woman- her nametag read "Sandy"- walked over to the front of the truck and pulled something from what appeared to be a cooler while the man- "Carl"- fetched a clipboard and what appeared to be a form. Sandy sat next to him on the bench and put a gentle left hand on his shoulder (either very brave or just unafraid) and her other handed him a bottle of water.

"We didn't get to hear the whole story, but from what Chris told Tina, it sounds like you've been through quite a bit." Her voice was soft and reassuring- probably didn't want him to feel threatened.

He nodded. "Yeah." She didn't know the half of it... "We'll have to tell you the story sometime, whenever you've got a few hours to spare."

A brief smile was returned. "I'll see if Chris can't arrange something." She nodded towards the man. "Carl here is going to take your vitals- blood pressure, pulse rate, so on and so forth- and ask you some questions, okay?"

He nodded. "Standard procedure, right?"

She returned the nod. "I'll find you something to eat in the meantime."

Meanwhile, Joseph had begun to climb down the ladder when Jean made her attempt at the jump. The leap didn't bother her so much- she knew that what Wesker had done to them had increased their strength and speed to inhuman proportions. It was the fact that she was wearing a dress- and _only_ a dress- that made her self-conscious. It hadn't been easy being a woman on a predominately male team, and the situation now certainly wasn't helping. The escape from the lab had been uncomfortable enough- flying through the air between a window and a fire escape wasn't any better. She dearly wished she was wearing pants.

She didn't begin to worry until she realized the ground was rushing up faster than the fire escape. Would Forest catch her? Dear God, she hoped so- otherwise with her luck, she'd probably land with her skirt hiked up. She stretched her arms out as far as they could, nearly desperate. Almost there…

She felt her hands come in contact with cold iron, and for a brief moment she felt a rush of relief at feeling the walkway. Just as quickly, however, the relief was gone, the momentum making her lower body swing and the force of the sudden shift taking its toll on her grip. A curse exploded from Forest when she fell before he could reach down to help her.

Joseph had nearly been down when he saw his best friend plummet from the fire escape. With a stab of sharp alarm, he merely let himself drop from the ladder, taking off running the moment his feet touched the pavement. Although still faster than a regular human, he was weakened enough to keep him from reaching her before she hit.

"Jean!"

She had twisted in midair, landing on her left side instead of her back, her legs curled a little in brace for impact. The change in position had kept her skirt in relatively the same place, but hadn't softened her landing. He kneeled beside her once he neared, her already beginning to push herself up. His hands came to her shoulders as he helped her.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'll live," came her response, and he felt relieved. She didn't seem to be showing any signs of pain- then again, if she didn't want anyone to know, she didn't. She was a Chicago girl, and she could be stubborn sometimes. He watched her carefully as she rose to her feet before climbing up onto his own. It was the first time any of them had seen her in anything but her S.T.A.R.S. uniform, and her being in that dress with her hair unrestrained made her look feminine and fragile. He knew she hated it.

"She okay?"

Joseph looked up towards Forest and Kevin, who were both leaning over the railing with noticeable concern. He gave them a thumbs up. "We're good."

Relief on their part, and he put an arm around her shoulders as they headed towards the trucks. "Come on; let's get out of here before Forest decides to drop anyone else."

"I heard that!"

A slight grin on Joseph's behalf. Now that they were finally going somewhere safe, it felt good to poke a little fun at his friends. Yes, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and there was always the threat of their pursuers overwhelming Enrico and Edward and taking the rest of the team- along with Jill- captive. Or they could just find another window and start shooting at the ones that have already escaped from there. But now that they were out in the open night air- out of the musty and stuffy atmosphere of the abandoned building- he couldn't help but to feel a bit better.

At the end of the alleyway, Chris stood waiting. He gestured towards the open back of the nearest truck. They nodded in response.

"You're mean," came her return, although he could easily hear the smile in her voice.

"Mean? Me? I'm the one that ran to help a lady."

A slight snort. "A _real_ gentleman would've caught me."

"Ouch. That was below the belt- keep those gloves up, Jean," he teased, and she gave him a playful jab in the ribs with an elbow. He chuckled as they reached the back of the truck, gently pushing her ahead of him so she could go first.

A brief discussion amongst those still in the building determined that Brad would be the second-to-last to go- he was currently resting and saving his energy for the run. The constant gunfire was making him nervous, yes, but the less he physically moved, the better. They had debated a little as to whether or not he should go now to get the help sooner, but in the end they had opted against it so he would have enough strength stored up for the jump.

Richard was the one to make the leap next. He did fairly well- being the optimistic one of the team, he repeatedly told himself he would make it (a little more difficult to do when he was actually in the air) and hoped for the best. He ended up overshooting a little and taking the railing to his chest. The impact made the air rush out of his lungs, but it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would have as he hung on to the railing. Forest and Kevin both hauled him over before Kevin held him steady on his feet.

"You alright?"

A nod as he caught his breath. He would probably be feeling that in the morning...

"Jill should be next," he said once his lungs caught up. "Then Brad, then Enrico and Edward." He stepped away from Kevin, feeling stable enough to continue on his own. He received a pat on his back before he headed for the ladder. Once he was down, he jogged towards Chris.

The gunman pointed towards the nearest evac truck. "You'll be the last one for this truck; we'll save the last spot for Brad, since it's closer to the escape route. How was he holding up?"

"So far so good," came his answer. "We're having him go just before Enrico and Edward so he'll be strong enough for the jump. Jill should be coming next."

Chris did a quick headcount- there was the nine that hadn't survived the mansion and the related incidents, plus him and Jill, bringing the grand total to eleven- and came up even. No one had been left behind deeper in the building.

Meanwhile, Jill was hesitant to leave Brad. She had helped him to his feet so he wouldn't have to use the energy, and he stood beside her as she prepared to make the run.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

He nodded. "Just... Please be careful, okay?"

She brought a hand to his shoulder. "You're the one we're all worried about. Remember- we'll be waiting out there to catch you; just run and jump from the window and don't look down."

He opened his mouth, but decided against saying anything more and shut it before backing away a step.

Her blue eyes locked with Enrico's, who was loading another clip into the gun. She and Chris had given them all their spares, and only had the bullets in their primary firearms left. They had hoped it would be enough to get everyone out.

The team captain nodded before stepping out of the doorway and opening fire. It was then Jill shot forward, legs pumping in a rushed sprint as she crossed the hallway. Needless to say, she wasn't looking forward to the jump; she didn't know what was going on outside, and didn't know what she was getting into. Then again, not much could be going on- the two teams of Wesker's men were both being held at bay by Enrico and Edward, and as far as she could tell they couldn't do much.

Although she wasn't as strong as Chris, Jill had two advantages over her partner when it came to leaping from the window: she was lighter and smaller. Thus it was with much greater ease that she pushed off from the windowsill, stretching her body outwards to pull her momentum forward in one graceful movement, Chris watching from below with trepidation as well as slight fascination. He didn't realize he was ogling until Forest caught her wrist and kept her from falling to the asphalt, her momentum swinging her lower body as she was pulled up. However, she didn't climb down the ladder.

Brad gathered his nerves as he waited for the signal from Enrico. Now wasn't the time to chicken out- he had to do this, or he wouldn't at all. He didn't fancy being shot and dragged away to be returned to Wesker's feet.

_Run, jump, don't look down,_ he repeated in his mind. _Run, jump, don't look down. Run, jump, don't look down..._

They'd be there to catch him- that's what they said. They were a team; he had to trust them. But could he trust himself? Would he freeze the moment he neared the window? Would Enrico and Edward have to cease fire to help him? Would he end up getting the three of them captured or killed?

_Run, jump, don't look down..._

Then both his captain and remaining teammate were looking at him, hiding just in the doorway for a brief pause in gunfire. They both gave him a nod, his fellow pilot with a small smile of encouragement. He merely returned the affirmative gesture with a hard swallow. He was so very tired, but he knew he could sleep later- in the trucks, probably, as Chris had assured them that they would be safe. He could rest then. He just had to make the jump...

Then the other two men were back outside the doorway, small flashes of light matching the loud sounds that reverberated around him. It was then he took off running, shooting across the hallway almost blindly, keeping his gaze focused on the window. They were waiting- he couldn't disappoint them...

He tapped into what felt like the last reserves of his strength he launched himself from the window, not sure if he could still use the superhuman strength he was capable of. In the rush that followed, he saw Jill standing on the fire escape, waiting for him. She had made it- surely he could too. Of course, she wasn't the one with an insanely fast metabolism and had been starving for three days...

_Don'tlookdowndon'tlookdowndon'tlookdown..._

He looked down.

The familiar stab in his chest was unwelcome. Granted, he knew it was nothing to be afraid of, as average humans would survive a fall from this height- so long as they didn't land on their neck- but that did nothing to ease his nerves when he was in midair. The adrenaline rush would've been more useful if he had gotten it just before he had jumped.

The fire escape neared, and he reached so far his arms began to hurt. All that accomplished, however, was the brush of old iron underneath his fingertip before it slid away. The frightened sound escaped him just moments before the grip of two hands came to his wrists, one considerably larger than the other. His lower body flailed a little bit before he realized he had been caught, a glance up revealing the faces of both Forest and Jill overhead. He would have felt relieved if he hadn't still been dangling by the grip of two teammates.

They began to pull him up, and his feet scrabbled for anything to help him climb, which wasn't until they could reach the support rod underneath. His breathing was a bit heavy by the time they hauled him over the railing and managed to get him to his feet. The fear began to subside once he felt the walkway beneath his feet and Jill with an arm around him to hold him up. They both caught their breaths.

"Whew... You alright?" came her question.

Wordlessly, he nodded.

"Good... Let's get you down the ladder."

Inside the abandoned building, the two remaining men moved quickly. Wesker's men would no longer have gunfire to hold them back, so Enrico and Edward would have to get out and get in the trucks so they could all get out of there before the two groups of opponents could retaliate. They hurried to the back of the room, aiming for a straight shot to the window.

"Ready?" asked the captain.

A nod as their feral eyes met. "Right behind you."

Gun still in one hand, Enrico shot forward. Only one at a time could fit through the window, so they would have to go one right after the other. Edward followed a few steps behind.

It seemed that now that there was no cover fire, the group that had met them upstairs could now take the time to return the volley. An instant after the captain emerged past the doorway quiet gunfire- armed with silencers, perhaps?- came from their left, and Edward instinctively stopped, bracing his arms against the doorway to keep himself from getting perforated. Enrico continued on, not noticing that a man was getting left behind.

Indecision briefly raged inside the remaining pilot. Keep going? Call Enrico? No, the team needed him- he was just a pilot. Wait until the hail of bullets stopped before making a break for it. Surely the teams of Wesker's men wouldn't try to keep shooting and storm the room at the same time; the risk of hitting one of their own was too great. He backed up a few steps and waited.

Enrico's black hair- always parted to the sides for ease of vision- whipped in the wind as he sailed through the air. He was the most experienced man on the team, and it showed. It seemed that whenever he was required to jump into action, the same set, intensely focused gaze came over his dark eyes. Now that they were changed, the look was almost threatening. He always planned his moves two steps ahead- a habit learned from playing checkers with his father at a young age- and even as he watched the fire escape come closer and closer, he was planning the rest of their escape: once he and Edward were back on their feet, they would be rear guard for Forest and Kevin as they all hurried for the trucks, watching for any heads or guns to pop out any of the windows. Once they were all in the trucks, that would be the end of his role; they would be at the mercy of the B.S.A.A.

It was his hand that first came in contact with the cold iron, quickly latching the empty one around the guardrail just over his head while the other held the gun at his side. He quickly stiffened his body to stop sooner. Forest and Kevin then came to his aid, helping to pull him onto the walkway. Although he didn't show it, Enrico was tired; his metabolism had increased just like the rest of the team's, and it wouldn't be long before he became as fatigued and weak as Brad. He hadn't wanted to show it, for the morale of the team, but he involuntarily leaned against Forest once he was helped to his feet. Thank God they'd be out of this soon...

Several long moments of silence passed before Kevin spoke.

"Wasn't Edward supposed to be right behind you?"

Enrico didn't like panic. It clouded judgment and made thinking clearly difficult. But he couldn't help the edge he felt develop in his chest.

_God help me- I left him behind!_

"_Edward_!"

The captain's yell caught everyone's attention. Jill and Brad had met up with Chris near the trucks when they stopped, looking up at the fire escape. It only took them a few seconds to realize the third pilot of their group was missing. Brad felt the fear return- not for himself, but for his teammate.

Where was Edward?

Still taking cover in the room, the projectiles still flying in the hallway. Apparently their assailants thought he was dumb enough to try to run through a hail of bullets to follow his captain. He was loyal to the team- and God knew he didn't want to be alone in there- but self-preservation played a part too. He just had to wait for a lull...

The hall suddenly fell quiet.

_There!_

In a full-out sprint, he dashed through the doorway in an effort to make it across the hall before they realized he was making a break for it. However, it seemed they had been prepared for such a move- and this time had the foresight to aim ahead of their moving target.

Edward winced when he felt a sharp poke in the bottom of the left side of his ribcage. However, there was no explosion of pain that usually accompanied a gunshot wound- as he had learned firsthand when an assignment had gone bad back in S.T.A.R.S.- instead, his side suddenly felt cold. The sensation spread quickly with the pumping of blood through his veins. Dread grew to a ball in the pit of his stomach. He thought he felt the gun in his left hand jump a little as a projectile ricocheted off of it- _What the hell are they shooting at me?!_- just before he reached the other doorway. The ice water in his veins spread down his leg and up his arm at the next step, and he suddenly felt lightheaded.

_Just... a little further..._

Each rapid beat of his pounding heart spread the numbness along his body. Could he really be loosing blood that quickly? It didn't feel like that bad of a shot, but he didn't dare look, lest he crash to the floor. He gasped a little as he stumbled halfway across the room, his vision spinning. He lost sight of the window, but kept running. His life depended on it.

He blinked forcefully, and the opening reappeared. Just a few more steps- a few more steps and a jump and Forest and Enrico would catch him and Chris would take them all somewhere safe...

The window was just a square of white in the dark. Dark outside, dark inside- when had everything gotten so dark...

Outside, Enrico had stilled his breath. If the pilot ended up getting captured, he would go in and rescue him himself. The last time he had left a man behind, the young man had gotten shot and killed. At the funeral, the man's wife had marched right up to him and slapped him across the face. He had deserved it. He wouldn't let history repeat itself.

Brad, Chris, and Jill hadn't moved. They watched the window for any sign of movement- any indication that Edward was okay.

Then all of a sudden he burst from the window, his jump clumsy and his reach halfhearted. The strain of effort was evident on his face, but his eyes were only half open. As he flew closer, Forest was the first to realize it.

"He's not gonna make it-!" Quickly letting go of his captain, the sniper rushed to the guardrail, leaning over it as far as he dared and then some, reaching as far down and out as he could. Kevin took hold of his other arm to keep him from going over. If he could reach just a little further...

The two outstretched hands met, Edward being the first to tighten his grip. However, the hold was weak, and lasted for merely a moment before he let go entirely. Forest- tired from the night's events coupled with the lack of nutrition- didn't get the time to clasp his hand around the other before he slipped away.

Edward's body offered no resistance as he fell, falling face down towards the pavement below. Fortunately his head had turned towards the street before he hit, preventing a broken nose. His right arm was still stretched out from the reach when it came to rest. The gun- which had been the first to fall- had landed not even two feet away.

"Edward!" cried Brad, realizing the fallen man wasn't moving.

The sound spurred the others to action. Enrico bolted for the ladder, climbing down part of the way before sliding down the rest.

Chris put an arm around Brad. "Jill- they need defense! I'll take Brad!"

With a nod she released the pilot, drawing her gun and running for their fallen friend. She knew what he had meant- there was nothing keeping Wesker's men from taking potshots at them now. She pointed to the still form and turned her gaze. "Forest! Take the gun!" Better off having the sharpshooter with the ammo than anyone else...

Brad struggled a little bit as Chris led him to the back of the nearest truck. "But- Edward...!"

The B.S.A.A. agent didn't yield. "There's nothing you can do for him," he reasoned. "You're about to collapse as it is. Besides, Jill's taking care of him. You know how she gets."

He found he didn't have an argument for that, and so he complied. He was still anxious, however, and he wouldn't calm until he was sure everyone was safe. He had left everyone to die back in Raccoon Forest- he had to know for sure that they were all getting out this time.

Enrico, meanwhile, ran straight for his fallen teammate, kneeling beside him and- waning strength be damned- carefully hefted him over his right shoulder. Kevin stood nearby, ready should his captain need help, while Jill and Forest kept their guns raised towards the windows. It was Jill that issued the orders this time.

"The front truck! Go- go!"

Making sure his fallen brother-in-arms wouldn't slip from his grasp, Enrico led the group as they all moved quickly towards the trucks. Two pairs of eyes- one human, the other not- darted from window to window on the second floor, keeping an eye out for an enemy head or gun barrel.

Having left Brad in the care of the EMTs inside, Chris stood outside the truck and watched as the group neared the first. From what he could see, Edward was carefully laid out on a bench to be tended to by the two male EMTs within. Jill sat on her knees inside, preparing to hold him steady for the trip back to HQ. Everyone else must've taken the other bench. The doors were open, which acted as a shield from any enemy fire, save grenades. They would be safe enough. He quickly returned to the back of his truck, pulling his radio from his belt. Time for one last headcount.

"Jill- you've got those four, right? Over."

"_Yeah. Edward, Enrico, Kevin, and Forest. Over."_

Five, counting her. A swift count of those seated on the benches- plus himself- brought up six. A grand total of eleven. "That's all of us. Shut the doors- we're getting the hell out of here." He shut the double doors behind him as he jumped into the back of the truck, then nodded towards the EMTs. Carl approached the back wall, pressing a button near what appeared to be a speaker. Considering the nature of the emergencies the B.S.A.A. dealt with- namely, bioterrorism- the driver's area was completely sealed off from the back. The small window between the two sections was bullet proof.

"We're ready to go; follow Tina back to HQ." He released the button, and a few seconds later a voice came from the speaker.

"_Rodger that."_

Chris moved to take his place at the empty spot between Brad and Richard. "How's Ed doing? Over."

A few seconds of silence. The vehicle started to move, accelerating quickly to keep up with "crazy driver" Tina. _"He's stable. Doesn't look like he'll be going critical. He'll undergo a more thorough exam at HQ, but so far it looks like he'll be okay. Over." _

"Alright. See you there. Over and out." He put the radio away and looked up at Sandy. "Any sign of pursuit?"

Stepping carefully, she made her way to the doors and peered out the small- and likewise bullet proof- window, carefully observing the area outside. She then turned back towards them. "None." A reassuring smile. "You're all safe now."

The previously deceased all visibly relaxed up against the walls. Finally...

As she rest back- remembering to keep her legs closed due to her skirt- Jean's eyes opened from her silent sigh to rest on Richard. His gaze- his eyes more yellow- met hers, and he offered her a small smile. Finally- they were safe. She returned it, fighting back the slight blush that threatened. He was cute when he smiled.

The agent on board turned towards the pilot beside him. "See Brad? Everything turned out alright."

The gaze was returned, only unfocused. The small smile was genuine, a soft "Yeah…" escaping him almost as a sigh before his expression slowly fell.

It was Chris's advanced reaction time- built by years of use- that allowed him to catch the suddenly unresponsive form that slumped forward and off of the seat. It took a second for his mind to catch up with what had happened.

"Brad!"

Carl and Sandy shot forward, directing the agent to carefully lay the unconscious man on the floor of the vehicle. The woman checked his pulse as the others hovered anxiously, the good mood ruined. She murmured something under her breath and shook her head before pointing to a bag of clear fluid. "Carl- the IV!"

Chris swept up his radio again, this time his voice tense. "Jill- tell Tina to pick it up a notch- Brad just passed out, and it's not looking good…"

_To be continued…_

Author's note: HURF. I had no idea this chapter would stretch out so much. It's almost twice the length of the first chapter. Hope the action was enough to keep you going, and hope the ending of this chapter will make you come back for more.


	3. Aftershock

Disclaimer: If'n you know 'em, I don't own 'em.

Author's note: Short chapter this time- only seven pages- comprised of us briefly touching base with those so far neglected. Originally, I wanted to put more into this one, but I had to cut it short so I could do some research. Besides, I didn't want this one turning into another chapter 2.

_Chapter 3: Aftershock_

It had started an ordinary day for Rebecca Chambers.

Her alarm clock had gone off at five in the morning, and- mumbling sleepily to herself for a little bit- she managed to slide out of the bed without getting herself tangled in the covers. Morning always came too early in her mind, but what could she do? She loved her job. It made her feel needed and important- not just to the B.S.A.A., but to her patients. She loved their grateful smiles and feeling that another life was better due to her efforts. But most of all, she loved her job because it was her own way of fighting bioterrorism.

Bare feet pattered out of the room, heading for the bathroom down the hall.

She had been a child prodigy. At the age of eighteen, she had graduated high school, college, and police academy, and had been selected to be a part of an elite unit known as S.T.A.R.S. Very much a little fish in a big pond, but she had felt like she was making a difference. She had only been in the team for a month when bioterrorism- coupled with the selfishness and greed of one man- had dashed that all to pieces and made her life a living hell for two days and for weeks afterwards. The unit she had been assigned to- Bravo team- had been completely obliterated except for her. A picture of both Bravo and Alpha together had been given to her by Chris- he had made a copy of one in the station for her to remember her teammates by. She had kept good care of the photo, and it had stayed hung up in her bedroom in a frame- save for one night when, with a kitchen knife and a fit of PTSD, she had scratched the traitorous bastard's face out. All that remained of the Alpha captain in the photo was a body.

That had been seven years ago. She was twenty five now. She had physically grown and matured since then- she had grown her hair out a bit, keeping the bangs above her eyes, however- and had grown just a little taller. Her face had retained a lot of it's childish roundness (unfortunately, in her opinion) and she had hoped the longer hair would make it look a little thinner.

Now, however, as she leaned over the sink and peered at herself in the mirror, running a hand through the long strands, she again considered getting it cut. It was a pain to comb out, and she went through more shampoo and conditioner than when it was short. She never even really did anything with it; it was always tied back at work so it would stay out of her way. Maybe shorter hair would look more professional...

With a sigh, she proceeded to bind her hair back and wash her face. Patting it dry with a nearby towel, she freed her brown locks then wandered back down the carpeted hall to return to her room. She had saved up to buy a place for a number of years even before her time with S.T.A.R.S.; she had fallen in love with it the moment she had seen it with the "For Sale" sign up while driving to work one day. Two bedrooms- the other was across the hall from hers- one bathroom, and a finished basement acting as a second living room with doors leading to a pantry and laundry room. She took great delight in decorating it as she saw fit- muted hues of brown and green were the primary colors, a floral pattern rug nestled in the center of the living room. Pictures of her family and friends spotted the walls. It was her haven.

Except- on some days- it felt just a little too big.

She lived alone. She had considered getting a pet, but feared that with her work it would end up feeling neglected. She had set up the spare bedroom for when she had guests, but those were few and far between. Some days, she just wanted company- someone to talk to- someone that knew what she had been through. Chris and Jill were usually fully focused on their work (and, she suspected, each other), and Barry had his family. But, given the choice, she could think of one person she wanted to be with her the most.

She hadn't seen Billy Coen in seven years. It was plainly obvious she had come to like the ex-lieutenant during the night they had spent fighting for their lives together, and walking away- leaving him in the zombie dog-infested woods- had been so very hard. She'd give almost anything to hear him call her "princess" again. She sometimes daydreamed she'd come home one day to find him lounging on her couch, or perhaps a letter in the mail telling her that he'd be stopping by in a few days. But these were silly and childish, and she knew it- she had never found out if he had even made it out of the forest alive.

She didn't stop until she was in front of her dresser, picking up the nearby brush and gently running it through the strands. She had combed it fairly well after her shower last night, so it didn't take as much effort this time around. She then fished through the drawers, picking through the clothes available, finally deciding on white pants and a gray blouse. She left the shirt for last; reaching down, she slid open the top middle drawer and took out the pistol inside.

It was a solid black 1996 Smith and Wesson 910, a pirate smiley face sticker stuck above the handle on the left side. The sticker had been there for as long as she could remember, but it wasn't worn- the last owner of the weapon had gripped the handle right below it. It had been a parting gift from her friend and teammate, Jean Rubenson, who had died on the train that night of July 23rd. The gun had been special to the woman- rather than taking a Beretta, which had been the standard throughout the team, she instead had done the paperwork and had had both captains look over the weapon to okay it for use while on duty. She didn't know the story behind it or the sticker, but knew better than to question why the slightly older woman had wanted it to escape with her. Rebecca had kept it as a memento; she had only used it a few times during those two horrible nights- and each time she could have sworn she had felt Jean's almost motherly presence helping her aim- but hadn't used it since. With almost revered care, she placed it back down on the dresser top. What she had truly been looking for was just below it.

With just as much respect, she carefully lifted the item out of the drawer by the clasp. The two dogtags clinked together as they left the drawer. Holding it up with one hand, the other lifted the tags and held them at an angle to the light so she could clearly read the name engraved on them.

They were all she had to remember Billy by. She had used them to "prove" the convict's deceased state when she got back to Raccoon- the only part of her story anyone believed. The surprised look on his face when she had snatched them from around his neck had been priceless. It was with similar deft movements of her hands that she put it around her own neck and latched it closed, the metal cold against her nearly-bare chest when the tags came to rest. She had worn them every day since then, only taking them off to sleep and shower. Sometimes in the middle of the day she would take them out from underneath her shirt and hold them when she thought of him- but only when she was alone. No one else knew she still had them, or of what had truly transpired between the two. She often regretted how they had parted- not necessarily their salute, but rather that she hadn't hugged him. She swore that the next time they met, that's the first thing she would do. _Then_ she would scold him for not writing.

Moving over to the bed, she picked up the gray blouse and put it on, buttoned it up, gently replaced the pistol, and headed for her kitchen.

The living room was on the way there, and so she paused long enough to pick up the remote and turn on the TV. The news was on, but she didn't pay much attention to the reporter's droning as she made a pot of coffee, waiting for it to finish brewing before pouring herself a cup. It was only after she had gotten a few sips in did she move to the living room again, standing beside the couch and turning her attention to the television. She was moderately surprised to find the B.S.A.A. logo in the upper right corner- another heroic deed by one of their agents? That wasn't entirely uncommon these days; there would probably be some injuries to tend to when she got there. Maybe she should leave for work early...

"_Although no disturbance had been reported last night, the sight of the two B.S.A.A. ambulances speeding through town_ did _make several residents worry. The director of the organization had this to say:"_ The view changed from the reporter- tan suit with strawberry blonde hair cut shoulder length- to a text version of the quote with the director's picture and quote to one side. _"'Although the event last night seemed alarming, there was no- I repeat- _no _threat of bio-weapon outbreak. The situation was under control and no damage was done to property or person. I can assure you that this city is still safe.'"_ The view returned to the reporter. _"The B.S.A.A., founded back in..."_

Rebecca let the rest- the history of the B.S.A.A.- drift past her unheard. The director hadn't said the issue was resolved, nor what was in the trucks. There was definitely something going on. Time to get to work...

Briskly walking back to the kitchen, she filled up a travel mug with what was left of her current cup and topped it off from the pot. She always had been curious, and now she was itching to know what had happened last night. She just barely remembered to shut the coffee maker off before zipping through the house, collecting a jacket and her keys and her purse before remembering to shut off the TV and the lights and making her way to the garage.

She was careful to lock the door behind her before turning towards her vehicle. It was a cute, cherry-red little two-door- _Billy would laugh at me,_ she thought for what could very well have been the hundredth time since she had bought it- and although it was a little small, it served its purpose.

Her mind was buzzing the entire way, and so it didn't seem to take very long for her to pull into her designated spot in the parking ramp connected to the main building. Locking the doors- the incident in Raccoon had left her very much paranoid- she hurried to the main doors.

It was easy to tell something big had happened; everyone seemed to be glancing around nervously, and several people were hurrying from place to place. She wouldn't get any information here- she needed to go to the medical wing. They would debrief her there. She turned and started down the hallway she knew would lead her there, but before she could get five steps a voice came from behind her.

"Rebecca!"

She immediately stopped, recognizing the voice.

"Chris?"

She had to pause and blink the moment she saw him. He was red- like his skin had been scrubbed raw with scalding hot water- and his hair, although rarely ever considered "neat and tidy", managed to look worse. Also, there was a bandage on the inside of his left elbow, and she recognized the position as where blood had been drawn. He had been through decon, and recently. He looked as though he hadn't slept at all last night. This definitely wasn't a good sign...

He jogged to catch up with her. "Rebecca- you need to come with me."

The look in his blue eyes was almost intense. Whatever had happened, it was serious. "Chris, what's going on? I saw the news report this morning- were you involved?" If he was, God knew what kind of trouble the man could get himself into...

"I can't explain it here- I need to show you what we found, but..." At a loss for words, he shook his head. He was either very spooked or very worried- either of them spelled bad news. He gestured towards another hallway that lead to another wing. The bold lettered sign attached to the wall next to the doorway was all she needed to see.

**R&D/SCIENCE LABS/QUARANTINE **

Oh, this was not good at _all_...

_Later that morning..._

Barry Burton liked to spend his days off with his family.

His girls had been been young when the incident in Raccoon had occurred. They were now in their later school years- the eldest in high school, the younger getting there- and they were only growing up faster. He felt like time was slipping through his hands; he was afraid he would blink and both girls would be away to college and he had missed everything.

So the days when he got to stay at home with those dearest to him were considered special. This one was no different; a delicious morning breakfast (he was sure to tell his wife that, matching the compliment with a kiss) before the girls ran to school (Moria drove them both- a development that attested to the gray that had collected at their father's temples) and their parents would do the dishes together and spend some quality time for just the two of them. When the girls would come home, he would help them with their homework (or at least try to, when they needed it) and when they were done they would all go out for a night as a family. A wonderful day with those he loved.

But when the phone rang while he and Kathy were doing the dishes, he dreaded picking it up. Unexpected phone calls on your day off were never a good thing. Still, he sighed and wiped his hands dry, scooting over to the phone to catch it by the third ring.

"Burtons."

"_Barry? It's Jill." _

A call from Jill usually wasn't so bad- she and Kathy liked to chat once in a while to catch up on things Barry _didn't_ want to tell the other. He had long ago given up the fight. But right away he could tell this wasn't going to be a pleasant visit- her voice seemed to be shaking, like she was overwhelmed. He had seen the report on the news, but figured someone would tell him when he went back to work. Now he began to suspect it wasn't as low priority as he had thought. Jill was a strong woman- she had gone through the mansion incident, and had later survived when the T-Virus had broken out into Raccoon City- but for her to be this shook up...

His brown eyes glanced back at his wife, who had continued to do the dishes. He could tell by the shape of her shoulders she knew it wouldn't be good either.

"Jill? Is everything all right?"

"_I know it's your day off, and I'm so sorry, but... you really need to come to HQ."_

"Now?"

"_As soon as you possibly can." _

A brief pause for thought. "Is it what was on the news this morning? What was that all about, anyway?"

"_I wish I could tell you- I really do- but we need you to come here for the debriefing."_

"Why?"

"_Because Rebecca knows how to treat heart attacks."_

He had gotten a lot of teasing about his age back in S.T.A.R.S., and even after Raccoon had been obliterated. He listened- almost desperately- for the playful tone in her voice that usually came when she was poking a little fun at him. It wasn't there. She was serious.

He sighed and glanced down at his blue jeans and dark red T-shirt. So much for his day off... "Alright. Just give me a few minutes to change and I'll be-"

"_Don't bother- you won't be punching in. _Please _Barry-"_ she pleaded, and he all of a sudden wished she was standing in front of him so he could hug her, "_-I know how much your family means to you, but I wouldn't be calling you like this if it wasn't serious. Rebecca's already taken the news hard enough." _

That made him pause. Rebecca? Yes, the girl worked for the B.S.A.A. as well, but for the medical wing- their jobs rarely crossed paths, save for when they were hurt. No mention of Chris; where was he? Had something happened to him last night? But the director had said...

He felt the familiar paternal tug in his chest. If the surviving members of S.T.A.R.S. were gathering, it was a serious matter indeed. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"_We'll be waiting for you at the front desk,"_ she finished, sounding grateful.

"Alright. Bye."

He hung up the phone and paused for a few moments, his mind buzzing. His day off was ruined- the girls were going to be so disappointed...

"Barry?"

He turned to find his wife looking at him concernedly, wiping her hands dry on the dishtowel. He could tell from her eyes that she knew he was leaving.

He sighed again before approaching his wife, putting his arms around her. "I'm sorry, but something came up. Whatever it is, it's serious and involves S.T.A.R.S. I'll come back as soon as I can."

She wanted to ask what was going on- and he knew it- but she knew that if it was serious enough to call him in from his day off, it was probably confidential. She rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm sure the girls will understand."

He kissed her forehead, getting a face full of brown hair at the same time. Countless times they had planned something- either as a family or for just the two of them- and work interrupted. He was fortunate she had been so tolerant and understanding. If he had lost her and the girls to Umbrella back in '98, he doubted he would still be alive.

And as he headed out the door, he wondered if they would ever be truly safe again.

_In an undisclosed location..._

He was irritated.

The shorter of the two men in the dark lab- illuminated only by the light of the multiple monitors of the panel in front of them- didn't know how he knew it, but he did. He nervously ran a hand through his short dark hair, his pale blue eyes shifting to glance about in search of anything that would try to eat him. However, they were alone- there were no other beings in the room, living or otherwise. Just him and the tall, darkly dressed man who had his back to him and his arms behind him in an almost leisurely manner.

"Report."

One word- terse and emotionless- but it was enough to make him start. Trying to calm his nerves, he pulled the black, fingerless gloves more firmly onto his hands.

"We were unable to retrieve the targets. By the time we found them, they had already somehow contacted the B.S.A.A. Their transport arrived during the confrontation and they jumped from a second story window to a nearby fire escape. Two of them provided cover fire- they must've gotten the guns from the two B.S.A.A. agents with them."

A slight movement of the silhouetted head made him stop. "These two agents- what did they look like?" It sounded more like an order than a question. The uniformed man wondered why he was so afraid of the other. He wasn't his boss- he was just some creepy guy the organization had hired. He and the teams had been told to cooperate with him, and they had. The mission was over; surely he couldn't do anything to them now.

Although he had the reputation of being quite deadly. But those were just stories- he wasn't _actually_ capable of killing a man within the blink of an eye with just his bare hands.

"We only caught glances of them, but one was a man and the other was a woman."

Unseen, the feral eyes behind the black sunglasses briefly glowed.

_Chris..._

Damn him. Always meddling; always ruining his plans...

With the revived S.T.A.R.S. members now under the B.S.A.A.- and Chris's- watchful eyes, there was no way he would be able to get them back. Furthermore, the location of the lab was compromised. They would have to gut the place and ship out within the next day or two. He knew they would be weakened after going for so long without provisions, but he had underestimated their determination. The gift of life- and Birkin's unnamed virus- hadn't been appreciated.

He heard the man behind him shift nervously as the silence dragged out. Unbeknownst to the two teams, he had been listening in on every word they had said. Had he known that his employers would give him the two most incompetent groups of operatives, he would have gone and done it himself. He had deemed their effort halfhearted at best. Their body armor would have protected them from the Bravo's fire; they didn't attempt to shoot them while they were holding them off- hell, they didn't even try to keep the trucks from leaving by shooting out the tires.

And _this_ one…

He had ordered him to come report to him specifically. He had heard his smug comments just before they had discovered the Bravo's hiding spot; the fool was severely underestimating him and his abilities. Although he didn't seem so confident now that they were face-to-face (so to speak). Hmph. Coward.

But that was a minor issue. His entire plan had gone to hell. He had wasted precious samples of the unnamed virus he had meticulously worked to pull from his own body, the base had to be abandoned- further delaying his work- and sterilized, the revived S.T.A.R.S. were well out of his reach, and with them gone he had no test subjects for his latest project- the P25 serum.

The feral eyes- widened slits in the combination between the light of the monitors and the sunglasses- shifted to see the reflection of the man behind him in the darkened lenses. A brief flicker of thought, and a slow and frightening smile spread, the unfortunate behind him unaware and unknowing of what it would mean for him.

Perhaps there was yet a solution to the last problem...

_To be continued..._

Author's note: There you go. I personally feel sorry for Barry the most. Let me know what you think- I managed to spit this one out in three days. Go me.


	4. Shaken

Disclaimer: I only own Bob, the office guy we never saw the face of. Oh, and Jean, but I don't think she gets mentioned in this chapter.

Author's note: Bob is actually an OC I use a lot for minor appearances (and occasionally a few major). He's had a wide variety of occupations: surgeon, judge, fairy (don't ask), stagehand, head of an orphanage, and now he's just a regular ol' office guy. He might show up later.

_Chapter 4: Shaken_

The conference room was marked "In Use" when they approached, but Jill merely opened the door and continued in. The first thing Barry saw- and was immensely relieved to see- was Chris standing between two chairs on the far side of the table. He was in uniform, but his gear was gone. He looked rough, and there were some telltale signs of going through decon- red skin and mussed hair- still evident. He was talking to an older man with his back to the door; all the weapons expert could see of him was office attire and balding gray hair. Rebecca sat on the side of the table near the door, facing the two men but not watching them; she was wearing a white pair of slacks and a gray blouse underneath her regular long white coat, her nametag clipped to the breast pocket, but her hair was- for once- left down. Between the white walls and her brown hair, she blended into the room quite well. Despite this, she looked far from ready to go to work- she had her arms around herself and was just staring ahead blankly, looking a little pale. There was a manila envelope sitting unopened on the large mahogany table, something inside making an irregular bulge towards one side.

Overall, he wasn't sure what to think of the situation. But he quickly decided Rebecca was his top priority in her current condition. He moved to sit beside her, vaguely hearing the discussion between Chris and the man- something about how "they can't be released until the tests are done". He paid it little mind for the moment and instead put a large hand on the young woman's comparatively tiny shoulder.

"Hey- you okay?"

She blinked before turning her head towards him, the same stare now focused on him- or perhaps his shirt; it was hard to tell.

"Barry..." Her voice was soft and distant. "You're... not gonna believe this..."

_What the hell is going on?_

The unknown man left, leaving just the four in the room. Chris sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking very tired. Now that he compared the two, Jill looked the same way- a bit red skinned, disheveled, and as though they hadn't slept at all the night before. They had been through the same mess.

"Alright. Let's get this started."

The pair sat down across from the other two. Rebecca's arms relaxed and she forced her hands to sit on the table in front of her and lace her fingers together, much like she would had she been in a meeting. Barry matched Chris's stance, leaning forward in his chair with his arms on the table. The marksman checked to make sure he had everyone's attention by meeting their eyes with his before beginning.

"I wish there was an easy way to break this to you, Barry, but I can't- no matter how I put it, you won't believe it."

"Chris," came his response. "You and I have been though a hell of a lot together. You know me almost better than my own wife. Try me."

Hesitating, he finally reached for the envelope and opened it, unwinding the string from around the two knobs that held the flap shut. He spoke as he did this.

"Last night, Jill and I went on an unplanned rescue mission. She was given an address by an unknown man over the phone at the coffee shop down on Johnson, and we went to check it out. We found nine individuals in the abandoned building the address led us to. They were starving, weak, being pursued, and in desperate need of help." He opened the flap and put his hand in the envelope to reach for the contents, but didn't pull them out just yet. "I had called for a med evac before the people hunting them down showed up. We managed to evade them within the building until help came; we jumped from a second story window to a nearby fire escape and got the hell out of there. Barry..." A slight pause, his grip on the envelope tightening a considerable amount. "Those nine people- they were test subjects. Deliberately given a viral agent to alter them. We were in the back of those trucks last night."

Concern stirred deeply in Barry. That explained the decon, but there were still a million and one questions running through his mind. The T-Virus? If that was the case, how did Chris and Jill not get infected? The director had said nothing of there being B.O.W.s in the back of those trucks. In fact, all he had given was vague reassurances. Why hadn't he said more? What was the big secret?

And most importantly, how does that justify them calling him in on his day off?

"Chris- what was in the back of those trucks?"

The question hadn't been expected; Chris moved ever so slightly and blinked. Rather than waiting for an answer, the older man continued, feeling irritated.

"You wouldn't have called me out on my day off and not have me punch in if you only had a bunch of zombies in the back of those trucks. I know the director of the B.S.A.A. _personally_, and he's not the kind of man to lie to the public when it's important. Furthermore, you called in here to this debriefing the surviving members of the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. and the surviving members of the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. _only_- meaning that it involves us. I don't know where these points are all headed, but I _do_ know that I don't like it." The hard stare was familiar to those in the room, save Rebecca- it was probably the same look he gave his daughters when they were beginning to tread on his last bit of patience. He was done with all the dancing around the subject- he wanted to get to the point. _Now_. He repeated the question slowly. "What was in the trucks?"

A pause from the other man in the room before he slowly took in a breath, letting it escape in a rush through his mouth as a way to ease the knot in his gut. His blue eyes turning downward to the envelope in his hands, he simultaneously pulled the contents out- a stack of papers- about halfway before pausing. The lump within had stayed at the bottom. The stack was considerably thicker in their upper left corner. A large black clip was holding them all together in the middle along the top.

"It's not _what_ was in the trucks that's the issue here." He pulled the papers out completely. "It's _who_." With a gentle toss, they landed in front of the now confused man.

He picked them up as he gave a questioning glance to the woman sitting beside Chris, whose gaze revealed nothing other than that the contents of the envelope were indeed very serious. Receiving no answers, he pulled his own eyes down to the papers.

The first thing that caught his eye was the color photo paper clipped to the sheet behind it. He had to look at it for a second before the face registered. A young man- early to mid twenties- looked back at him, solemn. The eyes- yellow with what appeared to be a reddish orange along the outer edge of the irises, pupils a very narrow slit in reaction to the lights around him- would have been enough to startle him, but it was the instantly recognizable hair that made something in his chest almost violently twist. Nearly blonde, cut to a short buzz along the sides, the strands on top being left longer almost as though it was hinting back to the crew cut of the fifties.

Richard Aiken.

Barry suddenly understood why Jill had mentioned heart attacks.

"_Jesus Christ_-!" he suddenly almost cried, quickly dropping the papers as though they were covered in acid. With a screech his chair scooted backwards a good few inches, his hands on the edge of the table. His heart pounded in his throat.

There was just no way. It couldn't be...

Quiet from the others as they let him recover from the shock. Chris and Jill both carefully watched him for any adverse effects on his state of health. Rebecca merely sat and looked at the stack on the table, her face tight, her jaw clenched, and her hands with each other in a white-knuckled grip.

It was some time- several minutes?- before Chris spoke again, this time softly. "There were nine people in the building, Barry- that's _all_ of them."

Brown eyes shot up to look at him, still feeling incredulous. Surely he couldn't mean…

A gesture towards the papers was the only response.

… He _did_…

He quickly glanced over the sheet. It seemed to be a brief profile of sorts- name, date of birth, so on and so forth- to go with the photo. He didn't bother reading it. Removing the black clip and lifting the corner by the paper clip, he adjusted his gaze to the next sheet.

This one he identified as Edward Dewey, as also stated by the name. His eyes were closed- he looked either dead or unconscious. He flipped the page and the photo by paper clip once again. Kevin Dooley. Flip. Joseph Frost.

He continued like that at a rapid speed, instantly identifying each face that had changed just a little bit. It finally ended with Brad Vickers. His and Edward's were the only pictures where their eyes were closed. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. So he shut it again. Opened, then shut. He then went through them all once again, this time checking the name with each one. But no, they were all there- in a nice, neat, alphabetical order, from Aiken to Vickers. It wasn't until then he managed to croak out two words.

"How…" He shook his head. "… _Who_?..."

"Those eyes," came the response as Chris leaned forward in his chair again. "I've seen them before." Reaching out, he tapped Richard's picture at the eyes, emphasizing each word. "Just. Like. Wesker."

The dull sense of horror Barry had begun to feel suddenly multiplied exponentially. Yes, he had known Wesker was still alive- which was bad enough- but _this…_

"My _God_... What did he _do_ to them? Are they all right?" Both very good questions, yes, but the real question he wanted to ask was 'how in the hell did he bring them back from the dead?'.

"We don't know." Simple enough answer. "We were hoping the staff could tell us that. It's my guess that it was the same thing that he did to himself to come back from being run through by the Tyrant. They'd been starving for three days and whatever was done to them made their metabolisms skyrocket. Brad passed out on the way here."

Barry had adjusted pretty well at the mansion back in '98, mainly because he didn't have time to think about what was going on before he was required to act. Here, however, was the opposite. Plenty of time to think, no need to act. And that's why he was struggling so much to comprehend the whole thing. Their teammates they had watched die- some of them a second time- were suddenly living again. Seven years after the fact.

Then again, since thinking was the problem, maybe he just needed to quit. It seemed to work for the mansion incident, after all. He could try to comprehend it all later, when the emotions attached to the situation weren't running so high. He needed to _do_ something.

He slowly inhaled a breath through his mouth, steadying it. His gaze lifted, looking very much like a man on a mission. "What do we do now?"

Chris shook his head. "Not much. They're all in quarantine right now, hooked up to IVs and resting. They won't be released until it's been proven they'll be no threat to human life. Right now, they're being classified as a sentient form of advanced B.O.W. They've given no indication of being dangerous, but nobody wants to take that chance. They're _exactly _as we remember them- they just look a little different."

So taking action was out of the question. Well crap. "So what _can _we do? We can't let the researchers dissect them just because Wesker got his hands on them." They meant far too much to the four of them...

"We both pleaded our cases," said Jill, speaking for the first time in a while. "Since we're both considered part of 'The Original Eleven'- and we actually spent time in close proximity to them and we weren't infected with anything- we put up a pretty strong argument. We can only hope it's enough. All we can do now is keep up with their progress and be there for them."

A nod of agreement from the younger man. "Once we're done here, we can go see them." A nod towards the papers. "Those are all we've got on their current condition. During our escape, things went south and Edward got left behind. Jill was in the truck with him; Wesker's men shot him with this." Reaching into the envelope one more time, he pulled out a sealed plastic bag, this one with what appeared to be a dart inside. It was black, approximately two inches long, with a small tuft of feathers- likewise black- to provide drag. The tip, only perhaps a little more than a half an inch long, had what appeared to be a syringe cap over it.

"A dart?"

Finally Rebecca turned her head away from the stack of papers, her jade green eyes turning towards the object in the bag. She said nothing, however. Her grip on her hands hadn't eased.

"The labs took a look at what was in it. We don't know what Wesker's intentions are, but there's no doubt he's pretty ticked off they got away from him. For all we know, this was a way to tie up loose ends. If we know what was in it, it'd be in Edward's file." He gently lowered the bag to the table. "Rebecca?"

The youngest in the room started a little, almost as though her mind had been somewhere else. She blinked as her gaze lifted to him. "Yes?"

He gestured towards the papers in front of Barry. "Can you read Edward's file and translate the jargon for us?"

With a nod, she accepted the stack of papers (almost painfully prying her fingers apart) from Barry and set Richard's papers aside, her eyes lingering on the photo. The last time she had seen him, he was unconscious and recovering from the snake bite. She had heard a noise and gone to investigate. When she returned, he and his shotgun were gone. It wasn't until some time later did she learn he had met his end by means of a giant shark. To see him alive again- after so long...

Picking up Edward's file, her mind flashed back to his death- and subsequent re-death at her hands- for a moment before she pried her eyes away from the photo and glanced over the paper. Basic information on the first page- name, date of birth, height, weight, etc.- and she flipped to the next page. Here it was. The room remained quiet as she read. Once she had gathered enough information to share, she cleared her throat- when had it become so dry?- before she began.

"It says here he shows signs of starvation; they estimate the equivalent of a week without any sustenance. His metabolism is completely off the charts. He's suffering from moderate dehydration, and they're giving him fluids and nutrients intravenously to keep him from any further tissue damage." Another pause as she read some more, her brow furrowing halfway through. "The dart was filled with a concentration of flunitruzepam- that's Rohypnol."

"Rohypnol?" asked Jill, almost incredulously.

Chris, however, looked a little confused. "Rohypnol?" he echoed, not even bothering to try to pronounce the other term. "What does it do?"

Barry was the one to answer. He wasn't all that surprised Chris didn't know about it- he had gone from Air Force to Raccoon, where this hadn't been a problem. After Raccoon, he had been focused on bioterrorism. He simply hadn't had to deal with it. "My girls' high school had an assembly that warned about it. Rohypnol's a date rape drug."

Rebecca nodded, her gaze moving from person to person. "It's a benzodiazepine- a sedative. Benzodiazepines widely replaced barbiturates because they're considered safer, but when they're mixed with alcohol they can cause paralysis, extreme sedation, unconsciousness, and even anterograde amnesia. It says here-" she lifted the files a little, "- that the dart was loaded with a strong concentration of Rohypnol and alcohol. There was enough in there to put someone in a coma, if not outright kill them."

"But is he all right?" asked Jill.

Another glance over the paper. "According to this, he'll be fine- his metabolism is so high it would only take a large dose to affect him. It's estimated he'll wake up in a few hours. He might have a touch of amnesia- he'll still remember us, but the time between when the mix was introduced into his system and when he fell unconscious might be a blank slate." She put the papers down, feeling calmer after having a task assigned to her. "The IV will help flush it out of his system. He might be a little confused when he wakes up, but once the nutrients settle in he'll be as good as new."

Everyone around the table eased at that. Chris leaned back in his chair- that lightened the burden on his mind quite a bit. But Barry had another concern.

"So were the darts supposed to just tranquilize them? It was a lethal dose, after all."

"I'd be willing to bet my next paycheck Wesker supplied the ammo," declared the younger man. "They have the same mutations he does- he'd know just how much it would take."

"So the purpose was to sedate," concluded Rebecca. "Meaning he wanted them back to finish what he started."

"Find and retrieve," murmured Jill, mostly to herself. "Not search and destroy."

"But what _was_ he going to do with them?" asked Barry, folding his arms. "I mean, Brad knows what he did, and there's no doubt he told everyone else. They'd much rather bash his skull in than cooperate with him. What do you do with nine super-powered humans that hate your guts?"

"Doesn't matter," Chris suddenly proclaimed, leaning forward in his seat again with his elbows coming to the wood. His eyes held the familiar intense glitter once again. "He doesn't have them now, and it'll be over my dead body before he gets them again."

No one had any reason to doubt his words.

"They're under B.S.A.A. protection now- they're in the best of hands," agreed Jill. She then turned her attention to the other woman. "Rebecca- how's Brad doing?"

Returning her attention to the papers before her, she replaced Richard's file to the top before pulling the bottom-most group away. She wanted to flip through each and every one of them to see their faces again, but restrained herself- she would see them in person soon enough. Setting the others aside, she flipped the profile page and read the information behind it.

"Resting comfortably," she finally said after a length of reading. "His metabolism is significantly higher than that of the others; no clue as to why just yet. He's hooked up to an IV to give back the nutrients he desperately needs. Like Chris said, his body essentially shut itself down to save energy because he had nothing left to work with. If you two hadn't been there," she stated, turning her gaze to the two agents, "and they had managed to evade Wesker's men regardless, he probably wouldn't have made it through the morning."

A desperate situation indeed- wither up and die one by one, or surrender to Wesker. Surely that was in the madman's plan.

Chris seemed to be deep in thought, his gaze unreadable and towards the grain of the wooden table. Whatever it was, his face had tightened considerably. It wasn't until a few seconds after the doctor in the room had gone quiet did he move once again.

"Alright," he suddenly said, sitting up in his chair and returning his gaze to them. "From what I was told, we're allowed to see them but not disturb them in any way." He rose from his chair, his palms flat against the table as his gaze moved from one person to the next. "I'm going to go check on them. Feel free to come with me if you think you can handle it." No doubt this would be very emotional for all of them- especially Rebecca, being the sole survivor of Bravo team.

But she was the first one to jump to her feet, followed by Barry and Jill. It was something that had to be seen to be believed, and the doctor and the weapons expert _needed_ to believe it.

The slight smile that appeared on Chris's face was hard to miss. To be completely honest, he hadn't wanted to go alone- he had pushed away the majority of the shock of the discovery simply because there hadn't been time, the revived S.T.A.R.S. members needing his help so badly. It wasn't until he had to sit through decon did he get the chance to truly comprehend what had happened, and it had left him very much shaken. It was obvious the same thing had happened to Jill. He still had trouble believing it; a part of his mind berated him, telling him he was delusional and he would go to quarantine to only find an empty room.

The gunman led the pack through the halls, every step feeling as surreal as a dream. Seeing all four of them together as such was an unusual sight, and several of the employees they had passed couldn't help but to stare. It was well known throughout the B.S.A.A. that those four had survived the incidents that started the whole war against bioterrorism, and had a bit of a reputation because of it. They had been through more than anyone else- you simply didn't mess with them.

The stark white halls of the quarantine wing were kept separate from the rest of the building through a heavy door that required a cardkey and code to unlock. Swiping his card through the scanner, Chris put in the series of numbers once the indicator light turned yellow and it turned green, offering a congratulatory beep just before he turned the handle and pulled open the door. The main floor was purely administrative; the rooms themselves were held in the floors underground, to prevent anything from busting through the walls and into the public should something go wrong. A short elevator ride two floors down brought them to their intended destination.

Brad was the first one they came across, stopping in front of the four-by-three foot pane of glass (five inches thick and very much bullet proof) that acted as an observation window. There was a small console built into the sill on either side consisting of a button and a speaker- a means to communicate with whoever was on the other side, which was rather useless at the moment, considering the man inside was unconscious.

The room on the other side wasn't very big- fifteen by ten at most- and just as white as the halls outside. A lone hospital bed sat inside, the head of it up against the adjacent left wall and the white blanket up to the only inhabitant's chest. He was dressed in the standard thin, paper-like shirt and pants, his previous clothes most likely collected and incinerated. An IV stood on the other side of the bed, the line running from the hanging bag to his left arm. The report hadn't lied; Brad seemed to be resting comfortably, the slow and even rise and fall of his chest indicating he was under no distress. His arms were resting easily at his sides. Although the light hadn't been that great in the abandoned building, it seemed as though some of the color had returned to his face- a sure sign he was recovering.

There were mixed reactions from the observing group. Jill seemed noticeably relieved and almost looked as though she was counting each breath he took. Chris's face remained solemn, but his stance was more relaxed than any of them had seen so far that morning- his shoulders were no longer squared and his arms weren't as tense as they had been in the conference room. Barry found himself only able to stand and stare; the last time he had seen him the weapons expert had been gathering some things from his desk, the pilot watching a little mournfully from his own. Jill had told him Brad had died only after they had landed and he had asked. Judging by the look in her eyes, the memory was still too fresh for her to go into detail. Rebecca, however, merely stood and pensively watched, timing each breath. She hadn't known the pilot- he was a quiet man, and hadn't really gone out of his way to get to know her. From what she _did_ know about him, he was a bit timid (she heard the word "chickenheart" being used in reference to him several times) and generally a nice guy; hardly someone that deserved a fate at the hands of Umbrella or Wesker. And yet, he was the special one- apparently the first one to wake up, and the one with a metabolism surpassing all his teammates.

They found Edward next. His room was a carbon copy of Brad's, right down to the location of the bed. Likewise, he seemed to be just sleeping as well; nestled comfortably into the mattress, tucked in with only the utmost care. Had he been awake, he probably would have found the idea of someone tucking him in rather amusing; Rebecca would've done it herself if it meant getting a closer look.

The last she remembered of the larger man, his walking corpse had fallen to the ground, a bullet of hers in his forehead to keep him from gnawing on her neck. To see him now- his hair a mess but the color of someone alive in his skin- made her want to charge inside and throw her arms around him just to feel how warm he had to be now that he was alive. However, quarantine doors could only be opened by quarantine area employees; that was out of her jurisdiction.

The shock wasn't as severe for the others- they hadn't seen him since he had left the station that July 23rd of 1998. They didn't know what had happened to him- didn't have to watch his zombified body lurch after them, reaching to devour their flesh. Didn't have to pull the trigger and see the spray of blood and brain matter and know that it was _their_ bullet that had finally killed him…

Still, it was a relief for them all to watch his chest move with each breath, a sure sign of life. The IV dripped steadily, feeding him the nutrients and water he so badly needed. It would be some time before he would regain consciousness; it was safe for them to check on the others.

This window was easily twice the length of the other two; likewise, the room behind it was huge. Nine beds- two of them empty- were spaced equally apart along both adjacent walls, a privacy curtain set up in the back corner to act as a makeshift changing room. Each occupied bed had its own IV attached to the left arm of each patient. Everyone within seemed to be resting; the eyes of the four watchers moved from familiar face to familiar face, making sure the accompanying chest was rising and falling in breath.

The familiar shock struck Barry again upon seeing it for himself. They were all there, and they were all alive- Forest's face looked untouched, Joseph's neck was intact, and no bite marks whatsoever on Kenneth... He couldn't stop staring. It was _real_- they were really there and alive and oh God _it was_ _real-_!

He suppressed the overwhelming joy he felt upon seeing them all again to keep control of himself. He wanted so much to run in and gather everyone in a massive group hug (okay, so his arms weren't that big; but he could probably get at least a few in one shot) but the security lock on the door made that impossible for the time being. Perhaps, if the testing went well, he would get the chance later. For now he would spend his time staring, recalling the voice of each from his memory.

Rebecca, however, couldn't even think. Her mind was like a computer that had encountered a system error; everything came to a grinding halt as her vision narrowed to the room. She had been the only one of Bravo team to survive- they had all died a horrible death in one way or another, and the survivor's guilt had been unbearable. She had been the rookie; the little girl who had been totally unprepared to watch her teammates drop like flies. It was now seven years after the fact, and seeing them again- now very much alive- made the massive block of ice that had formed around her ribcage suddenly tighten.

On its own volition, her right hand rose and came to the glass. She just wanted- _needed_- to touch them so badly...

A sudden weight on her left shoulder nearly startled her, and she quickly looked to find a large hand merely sitting there. The thumb was towards her neck, meaning it was a left hand. There was no ring- it wasn't Barry.

"Soon," came Chris's voice to her right, soft and reassuring. "I promise."

Slowly inhaling a calming breath, she nodded once in affirmation before returning her gaze to those beyond the glass. When Chris Redfield made a promise, he kept it or died trying. That was simply who he was. She had no reason to doubt him.

No one of the four knew how much time had passed after then, them all staring at the group in quarantine and letting their minds drift back. The whole nightmare had started with their deaths; did their resurrections mean something as well? They could hope so; far too many people had died already in the name of bioterrorism.

It was Jill that finally broke the spell. "We've still got a lot to figure out."

"Such as?" asked Barry, still not quite willing to look away just yet.

She gestured towards the ones inside. "What do we do with them? We can't send them back out into the public, but we're sure as hell not letting the science labs have their way with them."

Chris's hand lifted from the doctor's shoulder. "Right. We should head back to the conference room and plan our next move. We've got a lot of decisions to make, and not a lot of time. One of us will get called when they start waking up."

Rebecca managed to pry her gaze away- if she looked at Richard for any longer, tears would come to her eyes- and turn her body towards them. No doubt they'll need her expertise as well. They were recovering, but the entire process would take some time. Then again, who knew what would happen- this was the first time (aside from biblical times and Wesker) someone came back from the dead without being a zombie.

Seeing he had everyone's attention, he nodded. "You guys go ahead. I'll check with the labs to see if there's any updates on the testing. The more we know, the better."

With affirmations, they left. Now alone, Chris returned his gaze to the window and once more carefully studied each face. It was like he was waking up from some horrible dream- a horrible dream that just happened to be real. Granted, things couldn't be the same as they used to be- not with Raccoon City gone and the others infected with whatever virus Wesker had given them- he couldn't help but to hope that someday they could develop a cure and they could all continue their lives as humans again. They had been through too much to be stuck in the equivalent of a glass jar for the rest of their years; they didn't deserve it. Wesker seemed to be able to walk about freely, so there had to be a good shot that this virus wasn't as contagious…

He turned to walk away when a movement caught his attention from the edge of his peripheral vision. Quickly stopping, he returned his eyes to the room beyond to see Joseph prop his upper body up with his right arm, blinking blearily as his pupils narrowed to barely-visible slits in the light of the room. His makeshift bandanna had been confiscated with the rest of the salvaged clothes, and so his blonde hair was just a messy mop with a lock that fell between his eyes. Once he was stable, his left arm started to rise but he apparently felt the IV, as he glanced down before relaxing it again and instead running his right hand through his hair to move it out of his face. As he did he looked around the room, apparently still not fully awake yet. Once he saw Chris in the window he smiled a little- a familiar, lopsided one- and he waved a little, the move sending his hair right back to where it had been.

The marksman couldn't help the slight smile, although his brow furrowed just a little in display of concern. _Everyone okay?_ he mouthed, knowing the other man could read lips.

A thumbs-up was the only return, the smile holding. Everyone seemed to be fine.

The concern melted. _Rest up. See you later._

With a nod, the blonde carefully settled himself back down onto the bed, pulling up the blanket that had fallen to around his waist when he had sat up. He brushed the hair from his eyes once more before his arm returned to his side, closing his eyes to go back to sleep.

Chris waited until his chest movements indicated his breathing had become slow and even before he left the window, leaving the quarantine area and heading for the labs.

_To be continued…_

Author's note: So, no heart attack for Barry. So far so good- everyone's okay, and things are getting organized. We'll see what plan the four come up with to handle the situation.


	5. Recovery

Disclaimer: I only own Jean and Bob, and the mentioned four EMTs, although only two of them have names.

Author's note: Starting off with more Bob! Poor guy's got a high-stress job this time around.

_Chapter 5:Recovery_

"She wants to _what_?!"

Robert Stevens- known to his coworkers as just Bob- was generally a nice, even-headed guy. He had been walking on this green earth for a considerable amount of time, as proven by his gray hair that was also making the effort of falling out, so there was a lot he had seen and heard; especially when it came to his job. He had handled tough projects and difficult agents before. But he knew- instinctively- that the moment he was put in charge of this new "project" (no official title yet, as the nine had only arrived late last night) he wouldn't be getting much sleep. And so, when Agent Chris Redfield- one of the B.S.A.A.'s finest- and Doctor Rebecca Chambers- who was very high ranking on the medical team- entered his office and he recognized the look in Redfield's eyes, he resisted the impulse to start looking for pain killers for the headache that was sure to follow.

The instinct hadn't failed him.

"It's for the best," came Rebecca's voice, soft but sure. "Due to the high concentration of Rohypnol and alcohol he was injected with, he just might not remember escaping their pursuers. If that's the case, he won't know if he's with us or them, and might react badly. I was with him when he died- if he saw me, he'd know he's safe."

Leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his desk, he carefully squeezed the bridge of his nose with his right hand. The cloth of his light blue shirt rustled a little with the movement. "I can understand that," he began, trying to get his point across gently. "With the experience Chris has had with Albert Wesker and these particular mutations, we _don't_ want him jumping to conclusions or panicking." Releasing his nose, his hands clasped together in front of his face, blue eyes solidly meeting her green. "However, Edward Dewey is under _quarantine_- he's a _biohazard_, Rebecca. A B.O.W. infected with the T-Virus, or at least some form of it. You know better than just about everyone in this room what that does to people. I'm sorry, but I _can't_ let you go in there without a hazmat suit. You're one of our finest- we can't take that risk."

"But we have strong proof that they're not as dangerous as originally thought," she countered, likewise trying to keep her voice even. She was an adult- she didn't need to resort to yelling. "Chris and Jill were both in close contact with them- hugged them, even- and they came through decon just fine. Before today, Wesker was the only report known of these particular mutations. There's _got_ to be something keeping this form of the virus within the select few carriers; Wesker has no regard for anyone other than himself, so there's no concern for the public keeping him in line. He's never been one to hide- something about the virus is keeping him from involuntarily spreading it."

Silence from the older man as he considered this. Chris, Jill, and the four EMTs were all clean when they went through decon. And according to the security reports and videos, there were no signs of aggression whatsoever from the nine infected. No signs of zombification; they still looked like average human beings, save for their eyes. This was unlike any of the other viruses they had files on; Rebecca may just be right. But he wasn't about to let her put herself in danger to prove it.

"That still doesn't explain why you shouldn't wear the hazmat suit."

This answer was much shorter. "Because Edward might not recognize me in it right away. He'll be more prone to hasty reactions if he doesn't know where he is. The easier he can identify me, the better. I'll be more than willing to put it on when I leave and go straight to decon for the sake of everyone else. I just need to be there for him." A brief pause. She tried her hardest to keep from giving away that she wanted to do this for herself as much as for Edward- she _needed_ to see him up close, just so she can be sure. If he picked up on that fact, however, he may deem her too emotionally involved and take her off the project entirely. She couldn't risk that happening. "We can't send one of his teammates because they're all still recovering. It might be some time before they're completely recovered- a day or two, maybe. Once I'm done with decon I'll be watching their progress carefully."

A graying brow shot up. "Oh, so _you're_ their doctor now?" This was news to him- he hadn't authorized it.

"Of course," came her response, matter-of-factly. "They know me. Between the four of us-" she nodded her head towards the still silent Chris, although indicating Jill and Barry filled the final two spots- "we know them better than anyone else in the B.S.A.A. They trust us."

Robert rubbed his face with both hands. Already he could envision his career swirling down the deep, dark toilet of unemployment… But how could he argue with her logic? And Chris hadn't even thrown in _his_ two cents yet- God knows why- and no doubt Jill and Barry felt the same way. He was outnumbered, despite his authority. They only wanted what was best for Dewey. Everything they had gone through had made them a tight-knit group, and now they were gathered for a new mission that they took very personally.

Even if he _did_ forbid them from sending Chambers in there without the hazmat suit, he was pretty sure they'd do it anyway. He had read Chris's file; he knew how he had gotten kicked out of the Air Force. He hoped it wouldn't be the same result here… His hands clasped together again. "No matter what I say, you're going to go ahead with it, aren't you?" he asked, resigned to his fate.

"Yes." No hesitation whatsoever from Chris.

A sigh. Redfield, Chambers- they were all good people, and for them to lose their jobs for doing what they knew was best would be a complete waste. Perhaps if he gave his scheme his consent, he'd take the fall for it and they'd get away with some disciplinary action… "Alright. I'll get the papers written up. You've got the okay from me, but God help me I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you because of this," he said, his gaze looking pointedly at Rebecca.

She merely nodded. She had considered the risks before they had approached him.

"About how long before Dewey wakes up?"

"There's no definite timeframe, although we're estimating somewhere around an hour or two. I'm planning on bringing a book in there with me to wait the time out. I'll leave it there for him for if he gets restless while he's recovering. I'll check his vitals while I'm there."

Multi-tasking. Why not. The blue eyes shifted to the other man in the room. "Chris- you'll be keeping an eye on her, right?"

A nod. "I'll check in with her periodically through the intercom. If something goes wrong, I'll be right there to help after Edward wakes up."

Robert returned the nod, then gestured towards the door, signaling they could leave. "Keep me posted." He watched them rise from the chairs and turn to go. A sudden thought struck him. "Oh, and Chris?"

The marksman stopped in the doorway, turning back to face him.

"I'd appreciate being present for any further impromptu meetings," he told him, his 'I mean it' look leaving no room for arguments.

A nod was returned before he turned to leave again. "Hope you're ready for a long day, then." With that, he walked out.

Robert Stevens waited until the door shut before putting his face in his hands. "Schlegel's gonna have a coronary..."

_An hour later…_

"_Get away from me! Ahh- No! Hey- HEY- NO!- AH-AAAAGHHHHUUUGHH…"_

With a just barely restrained gasp, Kenneth quickly sat up, his breathing tight and his eyes wide. He could still _hear_ the gushing and slurping sound of the monster biting into his neck, his own screams drowning in the gasps and gurgles that came from his damaged throat. How long had he laid there, dying but still alive, feeling the blood drain from him even faster with every bite and being unable to move to fight the thing off? It felt like an eternity… And then he had seen Jill- standing there frozen to the spot, eyes wide with an expression of abject horror on her face. He had tried to tell her to run- get Alpha team out of there- but the only thing that came from him was a groaning gurgle from his exposed windpipe.

He blinked a few times, rubbing his neck and trying to calm his heart rate. It wasn't the first time he had dreamed of his death- rather, it seemed every time he drifted off to sleep he was wandering down that fateful hallway once again. And once again, he reassured himself that he wasn't in the Arklay Mountains; that had been the past, and now…

Now…

He glanced around. Sterile white walls all around him, hospital beds both in front and on either side of him. Looking closely, there were still forms settled underneath the blankets. His bed was towards the middle of a wall, a large window showing what appeared to be yet more stark white in the wall to his left. To his right, a privacy curtain had been hung up in the corner- he remembered that they had changed from their less-than-clean scavenged clothes to the hospital-like pants and shirt they were wearing now in there. There was an IV in his left arm- which would probably bother him later, considering he was left handed- and that explained why he felt better than when he had fallen asleep. He could identify certain teammates by the hair on the pillows- the splash of black across the room from him and to his left was Enrico; the very long dishwater blonde strands to the left on his side could only be Jean; and the shock of blonde directly across from him was undeniably Joseph. Two of the beds were empty. He was with the team, and they were under the protective custody of the B.S.A.A.

He was safe.

A soft sigh escaped him as he relaxed. Now all he had to do was wait for someone to notice he was awake. He didn't feel tired, so he was probably done resting. Now, however, he was curious. What day was it exactly? What was going on in the world? His parents- were they okay? After seven years, they had probably aged quite a bit; no doubt all of their families had. But would they tell them? He could almost imagine how that would turn out... 'Mr. And Mrs. Sullivan- great news! You know your boy that died seven years ago? He's back!' His dad would probably have a heart attack, and his mom- well, she would probably just cry.

He missed them. He hoped they were okay; no doubt his death hit them pretty hard. He had been the only child, and so losing him had no doubt been twice as painful.

Movement from his peripheral vision drew his eyes to his left, seeing the familiar form in the window. He smiled, and Jill returned the gesture. She then waved towards herself- _Come here_, she seemed to say, although he couldn't hear anything- and he carefully leaned over towards the IV, peering down over the edge of the bed. Sure enough, it was on wheels. A quick peek under the covers assured him he was clothed before pulling them away completely to get up from the bed. His knees held steady beneath him and he pulled the IV stand along with him, moving carefully so he didn't wake up any of his teammates. The temperature of the floor beneath his bare feet was of no consequence to him, and so he paid it no mind at all. Once he was at the large window, Jill beamed and reached down before speaking again- this time her voice came from the small speaker on the console in front of him.

"How you feeling?" Her voice was soft, minding that the others were still sleeping.

A glance revealed a button and a speaker; assuming the microphone was built into the speaker, he leaned down just a little bit so she would be able to hear him without having him speak louder.

"Better," came his response. He could see his own reflection in the glass- his eyes were a bit more dilated, the lights inside the room being dimmed so the inhabitants could sleep. The lights had been on when he had fallen asleep, so somebody must've turned them down. It still didn't seem very dark, though. "Stronger too- the IVs must be working."

A nod. "I heard the med staff concentrated them to compensate for your higher metabolisms. You should be getting enough to bring you back to top form. We're guessing it'll still be a day or two before you're completely better, though."

"And Edward? Is he okay?"

"He's fine," she assured. "He was shot with a dart and pretty heavily drugged; Rebecca thinks the mix they gave him will probably keep him from remembering his actual escape from the building and he won't know if he's with us or Wesker. She's sitting with him now so he won't panic when he wakes up."

The look of relief on Kenneth's face was quickly replaced with a slightly blank look as her statement processed completely. He blinked once. "Rebecca?" he asked, almost unbelieving. "_Our_ Rebecca? As in, rookie, field medic, about this big-" He held a hand up to about Rebecca's height- "- _Rebecca_?"

A slight grin. "Yeah. She's one of our top medical staff right now. Twenty five years old." She shook her head slightly. "She grew up."

_Almost another hour later…_

Rebecca sat on a folding chair at Edward's bedside, calmly reading a book in her hands. In her lap was situated a copy of a newspaper. She had tied her hair back- the last time Edward had seen her she had short hair, and figured restraining it would help him recognize her. She had been waiting a good two hours; the first fifteen minutes or so of that, she had just sat in the chair and stared at him. He was exactly as she remembered him, save his hair being a little mussed and hanging in his face; it was the same face that offered her a smile nearly every morning at the S.T.A.R.S. office back in Raccoon. Even when she finally decided to actually read her book, she still paused to look at him once in a while. She didn't dare touch him just yet- lest she wake him too early- no matter how much she wanted to. It still didn't feel real; it almost felt as though she'd look up from her book and find him gone, her sitting in an empty quarantine room while concerned workmates watched on from the window. But no, he was still there whenever she looked- the bed positioned so he was partially sitting up, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath as she counted the seconds between them. A nice, calm sleep.

She had gotten nearly a quarter of the way through the book before a sudden noise from the bed nearly startled her, her quickly looking up to find the eyes of the man in the bed just peeked open. A quiet, low groan escaped him as his brow furrowed just a little bit- pain? Confusion?- and she quickly and quietly shut the novel, not even bothering to mark her place before setting it on her lap. A brief moment of indecision made her nibble her lower lip for a second before deciding to wait and let him finish waking up on his own. Oh please let him remember her…

The feral yellow eyes- she missed when they were blue- blinked a few times, his pupils contracting in response to the partially dimmed light. Approximately two seconds later, they turned towards her, somewhat startled. It was her first time seeing them up close, and she forced back a shiver. They were so _animalistic_...

He seemed to stare at her for a few seconds before the eyes narrowed a little in recognition. He blinked one more time before speaking- it was a little halted, but the voice was undeniably his.

"Re-bec-ca...?"

She held back the beaming smile she felt coming and instead toned it down to a quiet, gentle one. She nodded. "It's me," she assured. "It's been a while, hasn't it Edward?"

He blinked a few more times, seemingly having trouble comprehending that the girl of his memory- dressed in her white medic vest and green uniform- was now the professional looking woman before him. It seemed her physical appearance hadn't changed much, but the nametag attached to the breast pocket of her coat- the one that read "R. Chambers, MD"- betrayed the years that had gone by.

"I'm glad you're awake," she continued. "Chris and Jill said you gave everyone quite a scare last night."

It took him a second or two to process that entirely. "Chris and Jill?" he echoed. "So I'm..."

A slight chuckle on the doctor's behalf. "Yeah. You're with the B.S.A.A. They said you just barely made it out the window; Enrico carried you to the trucks. How do you feel?"

A pause as he took stock of his condition. No limbs were missing, no noticeable pain. Well, he had that going for him, at least... "The last thing I remember is getting shot and running towards the window. After that..." He shook his head.

"I'm not surprised. You're lucky they weren't shooting bullets at you." She leaned down towards her left, picking up something from the floor beside her. When she straightened again, she was holding a clipboard. She leafed through the pages for a moment. "It was a dart they pulled from you." Removing a photo from the files, she handed it to him. "You were drugged- a very strong concentration of Rohypnol and alcohol. We're guessing Wesker sent those teams out to tranquilize you and bring you all back so he could finish whatever he had planned."

He took the photo. It was of the dart, but it didn't look familiar. It explained why the shot hadn't hurt and he had begun to feel numb, however; not blood loss, but rather the drugs working their way through his system. "How much was I given?"

"Judging by the speed of your metabolism and how much had remained in you bloodstream when you made it here, we figured the dosage would've been enough to put a regular human in a coma or just kill them. Fortunately, because of your metabolism, it was only enough to knock you out for a few hours." She shifted the papers again, a small part of her brain wondering how long she was going to pretend this was another regular patient rather then a teammate she had watched die twice over. She could only hide behind professionalism for so long...

He handed her the photo back. "And everyone else? Are they okay?"

A nod as she returned the photo to its place. "Everyone was hooked up to IVs as soon as they were settled down to rest to treat for starvation. Chris just got a call maybe an hour ago; they started waking up. Brad, however-"

And a small rock of dread suddenly grew in the pit of his stomach.

"- passed out on the way here; he was hooked up to an IV en route. As far as I've heard, he's still resting, but well on his way to recovery."

Edward immediately felt relieved. Everyone would be okay.

"Which brings me to my next task." Leaning down again, he heard what sounded like the rustling of small metal and plastic objects- did she actually have a _bag_ of tools?- and his thoughts suddenly jumped when he noticed a swish of brown over her shoulder. He blinked.

"Long hair?"

Smiling a little sheepishly, she sat up again. "Yeah," she answered as she pulled it forward to show him. "Decided to grow it out. Thought maybe it would help me look my age. This is about all I do with it, though."

"It's... different." He wasn't sure what to say beyond that. He had only missed it by seven years, after all...

"Anyway..." Clearly feeling awkward talking about her hair, she pulled a brown plastic bottle and a cotton ball from the hidden bag. "While I'm here, I'll be updating your vitals. Since you were unconscious when you came in, we're keeping close track of your progress until you're completely recovered." As she spoke, she transferred the bottle and cotton to her left hand, moved the objects from her lap with her right, and got up from the chair before putting the book, newspaper, and clipboard on the seat. She then turned back towards her patient, her now-free right hand gently lifting his right arm from the bed to make room for her to sit. He moved it to rest on his waist on his own, feeling the mattress shift with the inclusion of her weight.

Once settled, she went right back to work, unscrewing the cap of the bottle and putting the cotton over the open top. Edward assumed it was rubbing alcohol, but as soon as he caught a whiff of the contents he quickly deduced it was a stronger disinfectant. She briefly tilted the bottle to slosh the fluid inside onto the cotton. She continued to speak as she closed the bottle.

"First I'll be taking a sample of your blood so the labs can determine your nutrient levels. You were all dangerously low when you got here- Brad was running on pretty much just adrenaline during most of the escape- and we want to make sure we've got the right concentration in the IVs." Having put the bottle back near the hidden bag, she turned back to him to see he was already holding out his arm. She smiled a bit at that before raising the needle and vial she had retrieved. "Just a little poke- promise."

He chuckled a little. That line hadn't been used on him since his middle school vaccinations. "And I promise I won't cry."

Something dangerously close to a giggle escaped her then- the mental image of Edward, a man big enough to look like he could take on a bear, cringing at a needle being slid into his arm was one of the funniest things she had ever imagined (number one on that list being Chris wearing a sombrero doing the Mexican Hat Dance- but that's a story for another time). She forced back most of her humor as she prepped the needle and vial, fishing a rubber strap from the bag and tying it around his bicep before swabbing the inside of his elbow. She was sure she was calm before removing the cap over the needle, gently taking hold of his arm and finding a vein. She watched the vial slowly fill. She didn't raise her eyes as he hesitantly asked her next question.

"Can I ask... What do you last remember of 1998?"

Several long moments of quiet on his behalf. Recalling one's own death was never a pleasant experience- especially considering the creatures responsible for it. Still, he obliged.

"I remember jumping through the train window and you coming to help me." And how short of breath he had become as his wounds burned- no longer hurt but _burned_- and simultaneously thinking '_Thank God she's alive_' and '_Oh God why didn't we leave her at the station_'... "I warned you about those things out in the forest-" The world was going dark and his body was becoming more and more numb and he just _couldn't breathe-_ "- and after that..." He shook his head. "Everything went black. When I woke up, I was in Wesker's lab."

The vial full, she retrieved the cotton ball and pressed the non-soaked side to where the needle entered his skin. Removing the needle with one fluid motion, she firmly pressed down on the cotton. She moved his arm towards him a little. "Hold this, please." Once his thumb was over the cotton- the reach made awkward by him trying to keep his left arm straight enough to not disturb the IV- she slid her own smaller fingers out from underneath his, her hands now free to properly seal the vial and carefully store the items away before taking new ones from the bag. While he waited, he curiously watched the cotton ball. When she was gathering the gauze to bandage his arm, he spoke.

"You know what's interesting?"

"Hmm?" came her response, sitting back up only to find he had pulled the cotton away- which shouldn't have been moved for at least another five to ten minutes to keep the pressurized blood from spraying- and before she had time to be alarmed, she realized there simply was no hole.

"We heal pretty fast now."

She blinked a few times in disbelief before very gently taking his arm, studying it closely. She wanted to be very careful- lest it suddenly reappear and reopen- but she could find no evidence to warrant her caution. There was no blood, no red mark- nothing to indicate a needle had punctured his vein hardly a minute ago. She gently touched where the needle had been- nothing but unmarred skin. She sat speechless for a few seconds, her mouth open but nothing coming out.

"That was our reaction too."

"How..." She shook her head. "The higher cell metabolism; they must regenerate almost instantly... Now that your body is getting the nutrients it needs, it can go back to optimum performance; that would explain why your wounds from 1998 didn't even leave a scar..." It also explained why there was no mark on his forehead from where she had shot him.

A few more moments of thought before she quickly took the chart from the chair and flipped a few pages and quickly began to write. Edward idly wondered if it would be legible.

He patiently waited for her to finish. It was a minute or so before she set the clipboard on her own lap and collected herself. She knew she shouldn't be surprised- Wesker had been run through by the Tyrant, after all, and he was alive and well last anyone had seen him.

Once composed, she continued the exam. Using a stethoscope, she listened to his heartbeat through the thin shirt to find it good and strong; although not at the top of health, due to the starvation, he was certainly healthy. She then checked his lungs, having him lean forward so she could listen through his back as he slowly inhaled and exhaled. Feeling his wrist, she noted his pulse was likewise fine. Taking a pen light, she then checked his pupil reactions. She noticed they reacted much faster than that of a normal human; she jotted that down on his medical files. The others would be getting a similar lookover when they could get the spare time; no doubt Jill, Chris, and Barry were keeping them busy with a barrage of questions regarding their escape from Wesker's lab.

Now sans-instruments, she gently felt his neck underneath the hinges of his jaw to check his lymph nodes for any swelling in reaction to the drugs or the virus in his system. He was as strong and muscular as he always had been; what had made him an intimidating figure to those that didn't know him that well.

Rebecca's touch was gentle- she was a natural healer, and a doctor was a role she had easily slid into. He was pleased she hadn't changed much since 1998; she had been just as kind back then, her ministrations just as tender. He had- either fortunately or unfortunately- given her the opportunity to practice her first aid before her fateful first assignment. A week and a half before the investigation into the Arklay Mountains, an incident had occurred in the office; Wesker had stepped out, and Enrico had the day off. Naturally, an office full of men (most of them young) left unsupervised led to them getting restless. A playful scuffle had broken out- he didn't remember who the two combatants had been, but he got caught in the crossfire, was knocked from his chair, and took the corner of his desk to his head. Fortunately no concussion had resulted, but the sight of the blood pouring from the gash just next to his right temple and under his hairline had effectively quelled any further roughhousing. In the mad rush to clean up the blood before their captain came back, Rebecca had quietly walked over to him, gently pushed him back down to the floor, then sat beside him and started tending to the wound. By the time Wesker had come back, the only signs of something amiss was the bandage on his head and the slightly disheveled appearance of a few desks. Although hard to tell with the sunglasses, Edward was sure he had gotten some kind of look. The wound still hadn't been completely healed by the time he had died; no doubt it had disappeared after his resurrection.

Finally, all that was left was a visual check of his eyes to see if there was anything else different about them. She managed this by gently taking his head into her hands, gently pulling the lower eyelids down with her thumbs to check the vessels for any ruptures and to look for any discoloration. It seemed the eyes were the primary difference between humans and whatever Wesker had turned them into; yes, there was the strength and speed, but those weren't nearly as obvious. Should the virus in them prove to not be contagious, the sight of their eyes could still keep them from venturing out in to the public once again. Unless they all went out and bought contacts...

Although initially frightening, Edward's eyes were rather pretty now that she got a closer look at them. They were mostly yellow, turning more gold towards the middle before fading to orange and then a more reddish orange along the outer edge. The slit-shaped pupils- although intimidating- still managed to give off the light of intelligence. As a matter of fact, she could see he was still Edward through them. They still had that "I'm a marshmallow" gaze that she had seen so many times. He was big, strong, and scary looking, but he had wanted to use that to protect people- never to hurt them. That was how she knew he was still Edward, despite the mutations. He had kept that look even up to his death- they had been blue back then, in pain and dying, and yet he was concerned for her.

Not like when she had found him after he had died. She had shivered when she had seen them then- soulless, hungry... There had been no concern for her, no recognition other than as fresh meat. And yet he still towered over her as his body had shuffled forward, gray in death and old, clotted blood around his mouth from his latest meal, uniform tattered and stained from his wounds, his cold, dead hands reaching for her- seeking to hold her in place so he could eat... There was no sign of Edward then; just the shell of the man he used to be. It was the only time she was ever truly afraid of him.

But there was no reason to be afraid of him now- Edward was back, and she felt immensely relieved.

The pilot knew something was up when he saw the subtle change of emotion in her eyes. Small movements in her face- which he could see due to his advanced eyesight- gave her a slightly troubled look before something else took their place, something he didn't really have a name for. One hand released him, only to rise and run through his hair a little, her fingers combing back the sand-colored strands. Her eyes were distant- she was thinking back. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she suddenly moved; for the briefest moment a look of anguish passed over her fair face before she suddenly threw her arms around his neck, a strained cry of "Oh my _God_ you _are _real!" escaping her as she held on to him.

Although the move surprised him a little, his only reaction- besides a slight smile in sympathy- was his right arm rising to gently come around her back. No doubt the incident back in 1998 had been traumatic for her, and to see all her dead teammates alive once again- seven years after the fact- was difficult to process; it certainly had been for him after he had woken up. She was awkwardly positioned and the clipboard had fallen from her lap to clatter to the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. Her breathing had become a little erratic- fighting tears?- and he gently rubbed her back. Her hair was soft against his cheek as she clung to him.

"It's okay, Rebecca- it's okay..."

He wondered what must have been running through her mind. She had finally settled down to a good job and a normal life after that mess back in Arklay, only to have the trauma and terrible memories follow her here. Had she even recovered from it? After something like that... and then what had happened with him...

The sympathetic smile faded, replaced with a twinge of guilt. He was already an intimidating guy, but to have his undead corpse shambling after someone as small and young as Rebecca...

"Brad told me what happened after I died." What to say? 'Sorry I became a zombie and tried to eat you'? Damn his luck for turning into one of those things and her finding him... "I'm sorry..."

She shakily inhaled a breath. "It wasn't _you_," came her quiet answer, still not moving from his hold. "It _wasn't_ you..."

_To be continued..._

Author's note: I've been eager to write the Edward and Rebecca bit for a while now. Overall, I guess it turned out okay.

Desperately trying to keep the chapters down to a manageable size- I don't want to suddenly dump another 29-pager on you guys again. Chapters 3 through 5 have been between 7 and 10 pages for ease of reading.

In later chapters: Chris gets pissed, Edward dances, Joseph has fun at Jean's expense, Kenneth talks about his butt, Enrico gets a letter, Chris gets drunk, Richard gets thoughtful, Jean gets scared, Joseph gets pissed, and they all have a poker night. In no particular order.


	6. Intermission 1: Brad and Barry

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone mentioned in this chapter.

Author's note: Alright- you guys've been mighty patient with me during my whole ordeal of cleaning, moving, rearranging, reorganizing, learning friends/relatives are coming over and cleaning like mad again, even though you're probably eager for chapter six. It's coming- I've got a good five pages as of this posting, so I haven't been neglecting it. However, until it's finished this should help tide you over.

As the chapter title states, this is an intermission of sorts- not much, but it's something. Think of it as a peace offering of sorts.

_Intermission 1: Brad and Barry_

Silence.

Enveloped in darkness, it felt oddly familiar. Quiet, with nothing to disturb him. As much as he liked it, there was something at the back of his mind- something nudging him to open his eyes and find out where he was. It was peaceful and calm where he was, but he was being told he couldn't stay.

_Wake up_, came the voice. _Come on- wake up!_

"Uhh…"

Red and orange eyes cracked open, dilated pupils narrowing a little. Slowly- wearily- they looked around. It was a few seconds before the surroundings registered- a rather plain hospital-looking room, fairly small with gray walls.

No, not gray- it was dark. Not very much, but enough to keep the lights from blinding him. He seemed to be in a hospital-like bed, his clothes gone- an unnerving thought- and replaced with what felt like paper-thin hospital clothes. The place smelled clean and sterile- except for himself (it _had _been three days, after all)- and he suddenly wondered what had happened. Just where was he? The last thing he remembered was-

"Brad?"

The voice- although familiar- startled him, and he quickly looked to his right to see a large window in the wall. On the other side of the glass stood a larger, yet easily recognizable figure. Auburn hair and beard, dark red shirt and blue jeans, brown eyes carefully watching for a reaction.

"Barry?"

A slight smile. "Glad to see you're up. I'm coming in, but I'll be wearing a hazmat suit- regulations and all. Give me a minute, alright?"

Not quite sure what to think, he merely nodded. He was grateful for the familiar face, especially one he hadn't seen in seven years. He wondered just how much had changed in the man's life since then. Had he and his wife had another baby? Not likely, but possible. How old were their girls now? He wished he had paid more attention back in S.T.A.R.S.- he wasn't sure he even remembered their names… Molly? It rang a bell…

The lights in the room brightened- slowly, it seemed, so his eyes would adjust- before the door opened. Sure enough, one Barry Burton walked in wearing a hazmat suit.

"Hey- how you feeling?" His voice was only slightly muffled; still easily recognizable.

Good question… No noticeable pain, although his left arm felt different. A glance revealed an IV in his arm, so that explained that. "A little weak yet. I might be able to stand…" If he tried really hard and had something to lean on, that is.

The older man seemed to try to wave the idea away. "Don't bother- you need the rest. Sounds like you've been through a lot since you woke up in that lab," he added as he came closer.

"Yeah…" More than he wanted to remember. But he was safe now- far from Wesker and whatever nefarious plans he had for them. He contemplatively fingered the edge of the short sleeve on his shirt for a few moments before returning his gaze to the human in the room. "Barry? What happened? The last thing I remember is Chris sitting next to me in that truck." They obviously made it to the B.S.A.A., but what about the rest of the team? "Is everyone else okay? What about Edward?"

"They're all okay," came the gentle reassurance. "They all woke up a good two hours ago- recovering, but they're recouping quick." He tried folding his arms, but found the position with the hazmat suit awkward and returned the limbs to his sides. "Apparently Edward was hit with a dart while he was making his escape; he was pretty heavily drugged, but otherwise okay. He's been up for about an hour."

Noticeable relief on Brad's part. Everyone had made it through okay.

Now what?

"So Barry… Guess it's been a while."

A sudden laugh. "Damn right it has! I was hoping to pick up you and Jill when I went back to Raccoon, but I ended up hauling her and some Umbrella mercenary out of that mess."

"Yeah…" His gaze lowered to the blanket. "I didn't make it…"

A pause. "Brad? How did you die?"

Something in the pilot's chest twisted as he looked back up at the man who had been his teammate back in S.T.A.R.S. "… Jill never told you?"

He shook his head. "No, but she did say she saw it, though. We assumed it was too painful for her to bring up. Do you remember anything about it?"

His gaze returned to the blanket, pulling it up a little more even though he wasn't really cold at all. "Well… A monster, I guess you could call it. I didn't really get a good look at it." Which was true- he was usually running from it whenever it came near. "It went for my face when it killed me, so…" He couldn't help but to touch the right side of his face. His last vague memory was of a sudden sharp pain on that side; the next thing he knew he was floating in the tank he had woken up in.

"Another twisted freak from Umbrella, huh?" came the question, the brown eyes lowering in thought. Brad knew more- he knew that- but figured it would be best to not pressure him, since he was recovering and all. He would tell them when he was good and ready.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure it was huge."

An awkward silence followed, one the revived of the two was desperate to fill before anymore questions regarding the monster were asked- it wasn't a pleasant memory, vague as it was. It was mostly the fear he remembered; that was always the most prominent in his dreams.

"I must've passed out in the truck?" he asked, looking back up, hopeful for some information.

Another nod as Barry's stance relaxed. "Yeah. Chris says you dropped just after you all got out of there; they hooked you up to an IV right away. Rebecca says if Chris and Jill hadn't come that night, you probably wouldnt've made it. Had everyone pretty worried for a while there."

So he nearly died again? He absorbed that for a moment. How ironic that would've been; last to die as a human, first to revive as a… whatever, and the first to die once again. Poetic justice, maybe? Not that he didn't deserve it.

He was suddenly aware that Barry was looking at him with an almost sad expression and felt moderately alarmed. Had something else happened that he didn't know about? Umbrella had been threatening his family, hadn't they? Had something happened to them? Before he had the chance to ask, however, the older man spoke.

"Do you realize that I'd be hugging you right now if the people upstairs weren't already unhappy with Rebecca for doing the same thing?"

A pause.

"Um…"

_To be continued…_

Author's note: Ugh. The ending to this is so rushed… But hey- it's Brad!

Oh, cut me some slack- it's been rough.


	7. Feeling Better

Disclaimer: I only own Jean, Ron, and Sandy. Oh, and Robert. And anyone else you don't recognize from the games. Or the movie, in the case of a mentioning of a certain airport.

Author's note: Another OC in here- Ron. He's originally from my Gundam Wing universe. I don't think we'll be seeing much of him from this point on, though.

Also, feel free to correct me on the airport name- I only got to see the movie once.

_Chapter 6: Feeling Better_

It was fortunate the window to the large quarantine room was so big. It was unfortunate, however, that there was only one speaker for them to listen to. All seven of the room's inhabitants- each with their IV stand at their side- hovered nearby, eager to hear what their friends had to say. Being their captain, Enrico got front and center, and they respected him enough to give him space to breathe. They were all listening intently as Chris finished up his tale of what he had been doing for the last seven years.

"... and that pretty much brings us to the present," he said, shrugging a little. "Claire joined a group called TerraSave; she got caught up in a T-Virus outbreak in Harderville Airport a few months ago. The government sent in a team to help the survivors, and two of those operatives survived with the rest of them. Last I heard, she was in Seattle, preparing for a rally."

Joseph grinned. "A Redfield's a Redfield- should've known that sister of yours is as tough as nails."

"But that poor Steve kid," said Kenneth, genuinely feeling sorry for his fate. "He didn't want to be caught up in this anymore than we did."

"Claire still misses him. She doesn't talk about him much, but when she does it's not for very long. She tries to act like she's over it, but..." Chris shook his head. As her older brother, he knew her better than anyone. Hiding something like this from him was hard to do. It was his job, after all.

Enrico paused a few moments to organize the information he had been hearing for the past hour, his red eyes narrowing a little in thought. The casualties of bioterrorism had only continued to rise since 1998; it sounded like they had been among the first of thousands upon thousands, and the numbers weren't done adding up yet. All because of Umbrella.

"You said Umbrella's been gone since 2003, right?" It still felt strange thinking of any year beyond 2000 as the past.

A nod. "Shortly after our mission in Russia. Apparently we found enough evidence there to implicate them of everything they did." For better or worse- black market sales skyrocketed and outbreaks had occurred all over the world. That was one of the reasons why the B.S.A.A. had been created.

"That would explain why there were no Umbrella logos on the machines we were in," came Jean's voice from somewhere behind Forest. Apparently unaware she had been there, a brown brow rose slightly as he glanced over his shoulder, trying to step aside to give her room.

"Speaking of which," began Jill, who had become suspiciously quiet after they briefly discussed Raccoon City's destruction, "how _did_ you guys escape the lab? Wesker would've been watching you like a hawk if you were his latest pet project."

"Not sure how we pulled it off," answered Enrico, "but we did. Sure as hell wasn't easy, especially considering that we only had those sheets and nothing else. Once we were more or less organized, we tried to search the room for anything useful- information, tools, weapons- but came back empty handed."

"_Alright. Anyone find anything?" _

_Kevin lifted a sheet of paper. "I found this near the door." He offered his captain the sheet, who took it. It seemed to be a simple note, written in bold pen with a very intellectual hand. _

These nine experiments are not to be disturbed in any way, shape or form by anyone except myself unless I deem otherwise. AW

_Enrico felt a twinge of anger upon being labeled an "experiment". Whoever this AW was, they seemed to think of the resurrected S.T.A.R.S. as their own personal science fair. However, it meant this AW would likely be the only one to suddenly walk in. Meaning this wouldn't be a frequented area. So long as they didn't draw attention to themselves, they should be okay. _

"_... Sir?"_

_He turned towards the lone female of the group. "Find anything, Jean?" _

_She stepped out from behind the machine that had once housed Edward, one hand still over the edge of the sheet wrapped around her chest. She was apparently still paranoid about being the only woman in a lab full of men where everyone was stuck without clothes. "There's no Umbrella logo on any of these machines, sir. There seems to be another company behind this." _

_So there was somebody else messing with these viruses? This didn't bode well... Eyes shifted to the black man shifting through some papers. "Kenneth?" _

_The chemist was the only scientist they had in their ranks, and so he had been assigned to find anything that might explain what had happened to them. He turned towards his captain, holding up a few sheets. "Nothing definitive; these all look like progress reports. Injury severity, nutrient intake, vital systems responsiveness- this is all for a biologist or a doctor." _

_No way to carry them. Damn. Pockets would have been nice right about now. He doubted they would do them any good anyway- they were each aware of how they had died, and they were all alive and well now. If he had found anything indicating the identity of their "benefactors" (he dreaded the thought of what they would want in return) he would have said so. _

"_Brad- any luck with the computer?" _

_The mentioned pilot was kneeled underneath the table, several cables in his hands. They led from the computer to several ports in the wall. "This is some pretty high-tech stuff, Captain. It looks like it's hooked directly into the system- if I try to log on, it's likely they'll know."_

_Risk detection for the sake of information? Surely employees forgot passwords all the time- they had in the police department- and maybe they'd just assume that was the case. And even if they _did _send someone to check it out, there were nine of them; unless they sent in a security team, numbers would be in their favor. _

"_See what you can do." _

_A nod, and the computer expert sat himself in the nearby chair and faced the dark monitor. The blinking yellow light indicated it was in sleep mode; a quick shake of the mouse made it begin to wake up. The power indication light turned green, and the screen slowly turned back on. _

"_Captain? There's blood over here." _

_That caught everyone's attention, and they all turned to see Forest standing near the table by the machines, looking at something that vaguely glittered in the lights overhead. _

"_It looks like glass shards. I'm guessing they came from that," he concluded, pointing towards the machine with the door of the tube shattered. Glass was scattered on the floor as well. There was no evidence of anyone being cut on the floor, however. The floor was wet; that would wash away any blood... _

_Wasn't Brad the first of them to wake up? Enrico berated himself for not checking over the pilot more thoroughly. There had been no one there to let him out, so logically the only option was to break out. That would explain why it appeared as though the first aid kit he had found in the cabinet had been used already- another glance at the table revealed the unused roll of bandages and tweezers that no doubt had come from the box. But Brad hadn't said anything about being hurt, and if the bandages were unused..._

"_Brad?" came the question. "Do you know anything about this?" _

_The pilot hesitantly turned the chair around to face him, looking visibly nervous. "Erm... Well..." _

"_But sir- the statistics of-" _

_This voice was new, and coming from somewhere outside the door. _

"_Down!" came his hissed order, everyone immediately crouching down out of sight of the window and moving towards the door. They hovered the wall on either side of it, listening intently for footsteps. They earnestly hoped they'd just walk by rather than stepping in to check on the "experiments"- the fact that nobody knew they were awake yet was their greatest advantage so far. If that went, then all they had was greater numbers. _

_Enrico was nearest to the hinge side of the door, his back flat against the wall as he listened carefully to the voices outside. The response had been too quiet for him to hear, but the return was closer than the first. _

"_But sir, do you really think that will be a factor in this experiment?"_

_Movement in the window, moving much too fast to consider opening the door. The reply was audible, although not by much._

"_They've been exposed before; they lack a proper immunity, but their bodies will be well-suited to handling the serum." _

_The voice was familiar. Joseph's brow furrowed a bit and he very carefully rose a little, just enough to see what was going on through the window. He was just on the other side of it from Enrico; he had the better vantage point. The captain didn't look himself- it was safer to not risk the greater chance of being seen._

"_Are you sure you want to take on this project alone? I mean, the sheer magnitude..." _

_The unfamiliar voice drifted off. Joseph's eyes suddenly widened in shock before quickly dropping back to the floor, noticeably trying to keep his breathing in check. He mouthed something, but it was hard to catch as a murmured "Yes sir. Sorry sir." came from outside before two sets of footsteps faded away. _

_It wasn't until everything was quiet again before anyone moved. Kenneth, who was next to Joseph, carefully patted his shoulder. _

"_Hey- you okay? What was it?" _

_The blonde shook his head, "oh shit" being repeated under his breath. _

_Being sure to keep under the window, Enrico approached the shocked younger man and kneeled beside him. He gently shook a shoulder. "Joseph- what did you see?" _

_Falling silent, he blinked but didn't turn his gaze towards either of them. He merely uttered one word. _

"_Wesker." _

_Silence for three seconds. Everyone merely stared. Disbelief and shock echoed on the expressions of his teammates. Surely he had to be mistaken; Brad had said-_

"_C-Captain-!" _

_Upon hearing the pilot's voice with that familiar fearful tone, he knew in that instant that their situation had just gotten worse. Turning his attention, Enrico saw that the computer specialist was back to sitting in the chair, staring at the screen and the small frame that had come up. Moving carefully, he stood only when he was sure he was past the window and stood behind the chair, one hand resting on the back of it, leaning forward slightly over the younger man to read the message over the two text boxes. A breathed "Oh my God…" escaped him. _

_This computer is locked and currently in use. _

_Only user Wesker Albert or an administrator may log in and unlock._

"I don't think we really understood how much trouble we were in until then."

Chris suddenly moved, pulling his phone from his pocket and holding it up. His blue eyes briefly danced across the small screen before smiling a bit and pocketing it again. Jill said something, but the button wasn't being held down and they couldn't hear it. He seemed to answer her with two or three words before reaching down to the console.

"Just got word from Barry; Brad's awake. A little weak yet, but the med techs will be with him in a few minutes to make sure he's taking to the IV. Once Edward's tests are done he'll probably be moved here when he's feeling up to it."

Even as he spoke, what appeared to be a team of doctors came from his left. They were all holding hazmat suits; one was pushing what appeared to be a cart of supplies and tools. The doctor in the lead spoke to Chris, and they briefly shook hands. Although they couldn't hear what was being said, the revived S.T.A.R.S. members didn't feel very concerned- the marksman was taking to their presences well enough, and so that meant he didn't feel they were any threat to them.

The conversation continued for a few more minutes before Chris returned his attention to them. "These guys are here to take some more blood samples; the labs want to check and make sure you're getting enough in the IVs. I'll be right here."

A reassuring thought, knowing that one of the people that cared about them the most- that knew they were alive, anyway- was watching to make sure they stayed safe while they were recovering.

The doctors all dressed in the hazmat suits before entering the room, directing them all to return to their beds so they could go about this in an orderly manner. The nine complied, wheeling their IVs with them and settling back down. A stack of files were taken from the cart and distributed before they scattered among the beds.

One of them looked at the attached photo before lifting his eyes to the younger man in the bed. Looked similar… "Joseph Robert Frost?"

A nod and a wave accompanied his smile. "That's me."

A pleasant smile from the older face through the shield in the helmet. "I'm Ron. Nice to meet you."

Joseph decided he liked Ron- seemed like a nice guy. "Likewise." With his advanced eyesight, he tried to see through the helmet's shield. Right away he noticed amber eyes- softer than his had been when he was human- and what looked like dirty blonde hair that seemed to be graying a little bit. He guessed his age to be somewhere around late forties to mid fifties.

The older man prepped a needle and vial as he spoke. "I'll be taking a blood sample to check your nutrient levels. So, Joseph, hmm? Have any preferences, like Joe or Joey?"

"Nah. Joseph's good. That's what the team always heard back in the station; I have a knack for pissing off my superiors." A grin.

A chuckle began his response. "Ah, so _you're_ the troublemaker! There's one in every group, after all." He gently slid the needle into the waiting arm, finding a vein and making sure the vial began to fill properly. "Sounds like you've had quite an adventure getting this far," he added conversationally.

A snort. "You don't know the half of it. Most of us went through hell in that mansion; I lucked out and got killed right away."

Ron seemed genuinely surprised. "Killed? A young whippersnapper like you?"

"Yeah," came his answer, his previous grin fading a bit. He could still hear those growls; they were all he heard when he slept. "Mauled, actually. Zombie dogs. Pack of 'em. Don't remember much- it happened so fast, all I really remember is the growling and teeth."

"He's afraid of dogs now."

"Am not!" came the quick rebuttal.

Forest, on the bed to Joseph's left, grinned. There was no one tending to him at the moment, and so he was left to watch the others, which- unfortunately- left him open to poke some fun. "Oh _please_- you damn near jumped into Jean's arms when we heard that howl."

Joseph would have folded his arms, but the needle was still in his right one and he had an IV in the other. "Well at least _I_ didn't cover my head when the birds flew by."

"Puppy chow."

"Bird food."

Ron looked from one to the other, wary should they become aggressive. He had been updated on their conditions, and had a pretty good idea of what they were capable of. Although they hadn't shown any signs of being violent thus far, he still didn't fancy the chance of finding out first hand if the reports were true or not.

A sigh came from Enrico, accompanied by a shake of his head. "Here we go…"

"They do this a lot," came the explanation from Richard, who was in the bed on Joseph's right. "Once a week, back in the station."

"Hey," came Chris's voice from the speaker. "Someone press the button; I wanna hear this."

One of the nurses, having just finishing bandaging Enrico, obliged.

"Kibble."

"Evergreen."

A slight "gsht" sound at the sting on his name. "Winterfresh!"

There was a sudden choke of restrained mirth from Jean across the room.

"I thought you were on my side!" came Joseph's complaint as he turned his attention to his best friend.

An outright laugh this time. "Sorry, but you have to admit that _was _pretty good…"

A chuckle from the speaker. "Looks like you two are feeling better… What did I miss?"

"Puppy chow and bird food," came the answer from the nurse.

Forest being declared the winner, quiet returned. Files were returned to the cart with multiple vials each, clearly labeled so no mistakes would be made. The remaining files were taken and the nurses once again spread out.

"Kenneth Jubilation Sullivan?"

The man in question inwardly cringed. God, how he hated his middle name… He looked up at the face within the helmet and then paused. "Hey- aren't you…?"

A smile. "Sandy, from the truck. Yeah. Figured since I was already involved, I might as well help out." Sure enough, it was the same gray-blue eyes from last night, brown hair that matched her name. If she had seemed at all afraid of him then, she certainly wasn't now. Rather, she seemed pleased to see him- at least he looked better this time… "So…" she began again as she prepared the syringe. "Jubilation, huh? Interesting middle name."

An almost visible wince, followed by an eye roll. "Ugh. Don't remind me… I've been abbreviating it to 'J' since middle school. You have no idea how much crap I got from the other kids."

A slight giggle. "I can imagine. But still," she continued as she gently slid the needle into his waiting arm. "I'm sure there's _some_ reason your parents gave you that name."

He paused reflectively. Granted, there _was_- and he had heard it only every single time he complained about his middle name to his parents- and a fairly legit reason as well. He had sworn to himself when he was younger that he would change his name once he was an adult. He never had.

"My parents always wanted kids, but it seemed like no matter how much they tried, they couldn't. I wasn't born until my mom was forty-four. Guess they were just really happy to have me."

"Can't blame them," she responded, watching the vial fill. "You were a cop, right? I think just about every parent would be proud. They must miss you pretty bad."

"Yeah," was all he said initially, his thoughts again drifting to his parents. If it was seven years after that mess in Raccoon, how old would they be now? Eighties, at least. He wondered if they were even alive still- assuming they survived the news of his death. "Well, they were pretty bad when I left home for the first time- I didn't think Mom would ever let me go."

He could've sworn he had seen her roll her eyes. "My mom was _terrible._ She bawled for days. And don't get me started on my dad- as soon as I turned sixteen he started glaring at every boy that so much as looked at me." The vial full, she pulled the needle free and pressed a cotton ball to the hole left behind. "Even when I was engaged he seemed to hover around." She taped the cotton in place.

Mild surprise, although he wasn't sure why. He didn't know her that well, and she certainly wasn't bad looking by any means. "You're married?"

A pause, then she started to pack up the vials and needles. "I was."

The lingering sadness in her voice, coupled with the tone and how she looked away gave the mutated man the impression he was treading on thin ice. So he decided quiet would be best after a soft "oh" left him. It remained quiet between them until she finished replacing her instruments.

"So- maybe I'll see you later."

Her cheer seemed forced now. As she got up and walked back to the cart, he wondered what had happened. Had her husband died? Left her for another woman? Or simply just divorced? It had to have been fairly recent for it to still be bothering her so much. Maybe, if he saw her again, he'd find out. But for now he had other priorities.

_Meanwhile…_

Rebecca sat on the lone stool within the small quarantine room, dressed in only the paper-thin hospital clothes similar to what the others in quarantine were wearing. Her fair skin still stung from going through decon, but the worst of it was over- all that was left now was to wait for her blood tests to finish. She was absolutely positive it would come back clean; Chris and Jill had, after all, and they had been exposed to the mutated S.T.A.R.S. longer than she had.

All her certainty, however, wouldn't convince the quarantine workers. Procedure was procedure- thus why she was sitting there, staring at the three people sitting on the other side of the thick glass, carefully watching her and their monitors for anything unusual to signify a mutation. Thermal imaging brought no unusual areas of temperature change, nor were any irregular sounds coming form her. One of them leaned forward a little bit to speak into the microphone. "_How are you feeling, Dr. Chambers?_"

"Fine," came her response, with no indication of hesitation or strain.

"_The tests should be done soon; we can let you out once you're clear._"

She merely nodded. She knew this already.

A sudden noise- low and rumbling- made everyone pause. Rebecca looked a little surprised. The three observing stared.

"… _What was that?_"

The young woman in question put a hand over her stomach, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry… I've only had some coffee so far today."

The one the furthermost left stifled his amusement with a hand over his mouth. The other two merely smiled.

"_Well, I guess that's understandable- it sounds like you've had quite a day._"

They didn't know the half of it, but she instead said nothing. They didn't need to know how much she missed Billy.

The woman furthest to the right suddenly turned, and a sheet of paper was handed to her by some unseen person. After several moments of reading, she nodded and gave the sheet to the other two before returning to the microphone. "_Alright- it looks like you're good to go. You can get your clothes in the bin on the way out. You should probably go to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat; and could you drag Redfield and Valentine with you? I don't think they left the quarantine area since they got here._"

She merely nodded before leaving the chamber, the green light indicating the door was unlocked. She quickly dressed, not wanting to be away eating for long. Maybe she could bring something back for Chris and Jill; no doubt they didn't want to be away from their newly revived friends any more than she did.

Retrieving the dog tags from the pocket of her pants- rather than leaving them out to be noticed- she put them on before finding her phone. She was surprised to notice a message waiting for her; it was Robert, telling her to come see him whenever she had time. A moment of indecision, accompanied by a nibble on her lower lip. With a slight shrug, she decided to ignore the message for the time being. He could wait.

_To be continued…_

Author's note: Whew… Hanging in there.


	8. Off the Project

Disclaimer: I think Bob is the only one I own that's in this chapter, although Jean is mentioned.

Author's note: HUZZAH Chapter 7. I struggled with this one, especially towards the end. Dialogue and I don't get along very well.

And Edward's mother is a very brave woman.

_Chapter 7: Off the Project_

"_WHAT?!_"

The chair was suddenly pushed back with a slight screech as Rebecca Chambers suddenly stood, palms slamming flat down on the top of the desk as she leaned forward over it.

"What do you _mean_- I'm _off the project_?!"

Robert quickly raised his hands in a display of innocence, leaning back in this chair. "I vouched for you- honest! It wasn't my call- Schlegel decided you were too emotionally involved when he saw how you reacted to Dewey. You can still talk to them," he added hastily when he saw the expression on her face. "They just want you to stay out of the quarantine rooms and the labs. If they're found not contagious-"

"-_When_ they're found not contagious," she corrected irritably, straightening her posture and tightly folding her arms.

"_When_," he agreed, not wanting to warrant any further wrath, "you'll be allowed back in. It's just a matter of time," he soothed. "The labs are working as fast as they can to process their blood samples. They just need to be absolutely certain."

A few moments of glowering on the young woman's behalf, then a short "Fine." She then leaned over his desk again. "But if anyone screws up, they'll be answering to _me._"

"I'll spread the word," he assured her, then watched her as she fairly stomped out of his office. It wasn't until the door shut that he visibly relaxed, his hands coming to his face to rub at tired eyes. Despite her size, Chambers could be one frightening individual… He pitied anyone that ticked her off. Even if that pitiable person ended up being him.

Some days, his job just sucked.

_Meanwhile…_

After spending a little bit of time trying to rest some more- and failing- Edward glanced over at the two reading materials Rebecca had left him. One appeared to be a novel of some sort- the binding wasn't facing him, and it seemed to be facedown, so he couldn't see the title- and the other a folded newspaper. Idly wondering if it was today's, he reached out and picked it up. It took one glance at the date at the top before he realized he had no way to know if it was todays or yesterdays. Regardless, he began to glance over the headlines. At the top of the page, the words "DOWNING SENTENCED" were in large, bold text, followed by the slightly smaller "FORMER RESEARCER TO SERVE LIFE SENTENCE FOR BIOTERRORISM". He glanced over the article.

Apparently, there had been an incident at an airport, which had left hundreds dead. He saw the word "T-Virus" smattered throughout the paragraphs. This Fredric Downing man had admitted to being responsible for it, and had been a former researcher of Umbrella that had stolen samples of viruses before the end of Raccoon in 1998.

Umbrella…

Try as he might, there was so much here he didn't understand. He knew of Umbrella- the pharmaceutical conglomerate that had effectively owned most of Raccoon City- but what he didn't get was how they could have been responsible for all the deaths of his teammates and the people of the city. They had been focused on the well-being of the people, right? So how could they be responsible for all these atrocities- this "T-Virus"?

But if Wesker had been in league with them…

T-Virus- that was the stuff that made people into zombies. What had made Forest, Jean, and himself go after their living teammates. What had made all those… _things_ in Raccoon. To cause the death of so many people… Didn't Umbrella employees have a conscience? To know what their work was doing and feel nothing regarding the price others were paying… It seemed so unreal.

Then again, it was because of that same company- those same people, those _monsters_- he and the rest of his teammates were alive again. Not necessarily human, but alive. Thinking, feeling, understanding- everything zombies weren't. He could still remember; his parents- his petite mother with her soft smile and his hulk of a father who greeted the world with a laugh; his older brother, who had teased him about being little until he had suddenly shot up to six and a half feet. Maybe, in time, he would be able to see them again. He hoped it was soon.

He continued to look over the newspaper. There was a smaller article on the front page regarding a late-night run of two B.S.A.A. trucks that had alarmed many of the local populous. It assured that nothing serious was going on and that there was no need for concern. Apparently this newspaper _was_ for today. Such a ruckus they were causing…

Meanwhile, within the monitoring station that observed all quarantine rooms, two pairs of eyes closely observed the screen showing Edward Dewey.

"Fascinating… it looks like it's actually _reading_ it…"

An eye roll from his younger companion. "Of _course_ he's reading it- what else is he gonna do? Eat it?"

"You never know with those damn B.O.W.s-" pronouncing it as the word "bow" rather than pronouncing each letter "- anything that moves is food."

"You're overreacting- he looks pretty normal to me." He watched the man on the screen turn the page. "Kinda big, but normal."

"Would you _stop_ referring to it as a person!" came the snapped response. "B.O.W.s _aren't_ people- they're mindless beasts! All of them!"

"Alright- calm down, would you? Sheesh- I think you've been on this shift too long." He reached for the control panel in front of him. "Let's find something else to watch." Browsing through the various smaller screens that surrounded the single larger one in two rows, he pressed a few keys. The larger image changed to another quarantine room, this one holding another single patient, accompanied by a lone figure in a hazmat suit.

The other man leaned forward in his chair, his eyes squinting. "Who _is_ that?"

"The guy in the suit? He came in while you were getting your coffee- he's that one guy that's pretty good friends with Redfield and Valentine. I forget his name." One eye closed a little in thought. "… Barton? Something like that."

"At least he has the sense to wear the suit- not like that one girl that was visiting the other one- the doctor girl you think is cute."

A noticeable red tinge to the face of the younger man. "Oh- just- shut up, would you?! Besides- her name is Rebecca. Rebecca Chambers."

A slightly amused snort. "Whatever happened to her, anyway?"

"She went through decon and came through clean. Hasn't been back in Quarantine since."

"That could be considered stalking, you know. Watching her every move."

"I'm not _stalking_ her," came his rebuttal. "I'm just… making sure she stays out of trouble."

"So you agree with me that these B.O.W. are nothing but trouble." A gesture towards the screen.

"I didn't say that," came his quick response. "I just…" Noticeable frustration. "I'm not stalking her, okay?!"

A chuckle. "You're young- you'll notice a lot of girls. This one just happens to be a doctor and makes big bucks."

"She's _smart_," came the correction.

"And looks like a minor."

"She's got ID to prove her age. Besides- from what I hear about her, she's been through more than most of the people that work here."

A noticeable pause, then the older of the two turned in his chair to face his companion. "From what you've _heard_? You mean, you haven't actually _talked_ to her yet?"

Another blush. "Well… no…"

Leaning back in his chair, he laughed in earnest. It was a few seconds before he was able to talk again. "Kid, you're not gonna get _anywhere_ if you don't step up to the plate and be a man. She won't go on a date with you if she doesn't know you exist."

"I know; I'm just… gathering my nerves."

"Yeah, well, it takes more than nerves to get a girl into your arms. Take it from someone who's been there and done that. First, what you need to do is…"

_A short time later…_

Barry stayed with Brad while a sample of his blood had been drawn, leaving only after encouraging the younger man to rest and making sure he settled comfortably in the bed. Even then he stayed outside the window, watching him until he fell asleep. Although his gaze was aimed towards the quarantined man within, his eyes were distant; concerned.

He was fairly certain that Brad was so different from the others because of the monster that had killed him. But asking him now certainly wouldn't help his recovery any, and Jill probably hadn't slept since the night before. Maybe it was too soon to confront either of them- after all, they had only arrived late last night. No matter how much he wanted the answer to the puzzle, he just couldn't get it right now.

Damn his fatherly tendencies towards the team… It seems their return had only made it worse- he wondered if he'd be able to sleep tonight. Afraid that they'd be gone when he woke up? The whole thing still felt so unreal.

With a frustrated sigh, he ran his hands over his graying hair before turning and walking down the hall. Now what? He wasn't sure. Just wait, he supposed.

He hated waiting.

A sudden shake at his hip almost startled him, and he quickly reached down to get his phone. Being underground, most would have expected him to get no signal whatsoever; however, when they built the facility they had installed signal enhancers throughout so everyone would be reachable in case of an emergency. Thus why he was able to see it was Rebecca calling him, and why he was able to hear her clearly when he answered.

"Rebecca?"

"_Hey Barry. I was wondering- are you with Chris and Jill right now?_"

The question didn't distract him. Being the father of two teenage girls, he could tell when they were trying to hide something over the phone. Even though the question was directed elsewhere, he still recognized the slightly distressed tone to her voice.

"Rebecca, is everything all right?"

A short period of silence. Ah ha…

"_What do you mean?_" she finally asked. Her tone hadn't changed other than a slightly nervous edge.

"I raised two teenage girls- I know when they're hiding something."

Another pause. "_But I'm not…_" She drifted off.

"Rebecca…" It was a tone surely all children were familiar with.

"_I'm off the project, okay?!_" she suddenly burst.

That made him pause, blinking in surprise. "Off the project? What?" What project? He couldn't recall any…

"_Project Daybreak. The guys. The B.S.A.A. stuck with the name Kevin thought up. Schlegel thinks I'm too emotionally involved and should stay out of it until _he_ thinks they're clean._" Her tone suggested a full-on rant mode. "_I'm the _only_ doctor here familiar with them and that they'd explicitly trust, and he's telling me to _stay away_?! __**I was on the team too!**_"

Barry silently sighed and leaned against the wall. Was Rebecca PMSing? Not entirely impossible, although if he was in her place he'd be pretty ticked off too.

"_I didn't go through seven years of survivor's guilt to be told I'm emotionally involved! Jesus Christ- _I watched Edward die_! No _shit_ I'm emotionally involved!_"

_Wow,_ thought Barry to himself. _Cursing- she really __**is**__ ticked off._ He was starting to regret wheedling it out of her.

"_They're _my_ teammates! How can they expect me to just stand back and say 'okay, I'll just watch'?! The last time I saw Richard he was unconscious from a massive snake bite in his torso! Do they have _any_ idea how many times I've watched that happen over the last seven years?!_"

It was here she paused to catch her breath. Barry waited until after a few exhalations before speaking again.

"Feel better?"

A huff. "_A little._"

A slight smile. "Can I talk now?"

She sighed, and he got the impression she fell back into her office chair. "_Yes. Sorry_." The last word was a mumble; it sounded like she was pouting.

Barry restrained a chuckle. Being a child prodigy, Rebecca hadn't gotten to act her age in her teen years. It seemed like now that she was an adult, the behavior resurfaced once in a great while. It was kinda cute, considering how young she still looked.

"You have every right be to upset," he began. "But you and I both know that once all the tests are finished they're going to find out that they're not contagious and going to spread a new virus with everything they touch. He did say you could rejoin the project when they do, right?"

"_Yes._" Less pout this time.

"Then there's nothing to worry about. The only reason they got yours through so fast was because you're priority B.S.A.A. personnel. It takes time to go through nine individual samples so thoroughly."

"_I know; it's just…_" A pause, followed by noticeable frustration. "_It's been seven __**years**__, Barry!_"

"I know," he soothed. "I know. And to be honest, I'm not sure I'm even going to sleep tonight. But right now we have to think about what's best for them, and right now that means letting the labs process their blood. As much as I want to barge in there and catch them all in one massive hug, I know it'll only make more work for the techs if I do. The only thing we can do now is wait for the results and prepare for when the testing is done."

A defeated sigh. "_You're right. I guess I'm just so used to losing friends, I don't know what to do when I get some back…_"

She sounded tired, not that he could blame her. She's probably been up since who knows when, and it was… He didn't know what time it was now. It had been a long day already. Still, he had calmed Rebecca down- it was a start. "Now- what's this about Chris and Jill?"

"_What? Oh- right. I was wondering if they were with you- I'm supposed to drag them to the cafeteria kicking and screaming so they'll eat something._"

A slight chuckle. "You do realize the only way you'll get them out of the quarantine area is by knocking them out and getting a team to drag them out tied to poles, right?"

"_I know. I'll think of something._"

"I'm sure you will." His phone beeped, and he glanced at the display to identify the caller. "That's Bob- I'd better answer this one. I'll talk to you later."

They hung up, and he pressed the button to accept the new call.

"Burton."

"_Barry; it's Bob. I need you to come to my office whenever you can. Regarding your friends._"

No doubt to tell him about the project name. Well, best get it over with… "Alright. I'm on my way." As much as he wanted to stay with the guys- needless to say, he could understand why his younger companions were so hesitant to leave them- he couldn't make the same mistake Rebecca did. Whatever it was, it had shown that she couldn't keep her emotions in check and risked her own safety for it. The team needed _someone_ as a constant; they would stay calmer and that was very good for their current conditions. He was the oldest between the four survivors- it might as well be him.

_To be continued…_

Author's note: Ugh… Just wanted to get this chapter **out**…

And yes, the two guys in the security room will become significant later. Those of you watching me on deviantART know why.


End file.
